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m'SSJS  0F  NC'  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 

Hllllllllll 

00022229820 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


From  the  Library  of 

GERTRUDE  WEIL 

1879-1971 


/  ^ 


tfortt^tfe 


\ 


V 


Timothy's  Quest 

A  Story  for  Anybody,  Young  or  Old 

Who  Cares  to  Read  It 

By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin 

With  Illustrations  by 
Oliver  Herford 


Bqfton  and  New  York 
Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company 


M  DCCC  XCV 


Copyright,  1890, 
Bv  KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN. 

Copyright,  1894, 
By  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &   CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/timothysqueststowigg 


SCENE   I. 

PAGE 

Flossy  Morrison  learns  the  Secret  of  Death 
without  ever  having  learned  the  secret 
of  Life 3 

SCENE    II. 

Little  Timothy  Jessup  assumes  Parental  Re- 
sponsibilities       17 

SCENE   III. 

Timothy  plans  a  Campaign,  and  Providence 
materially  assists  in  carrying  it  out,  or 
vice  versa 29 

SCENE  IV. 

Jabe  Slocum  assumes  the  Role  of  Guardian 
Angel 47 

SCENE  V. 

Timothy  finds  a  House  in  which  He  thinks  a 
Baby  is  needed,  but  the  Inmates  do  not 
entirely  agree  with  him      . 63 


vi  CONTENTS 

SCENE   VI. 
Timothy,  Lady  Gay,  and  Rags  prove  faithful 
to  each  other 79 

SCENE  VII. 
Mistress  and  Maid  find  to  their  Amazement 
that  a  Child,  more  than  all  other  Gifts, 
brings  Hope  with  it,  and  forward  looking 
Thoughts    . 93 

SCENE  VIII. 
Jabe  and  Samantha  exchange  Hostilities,  and 
the  former   says  a   Good   Word   for  the 
Little  Wanderers 109 

SCENE   IX. 
"  Now  the  End  of  the  Commandment  is  Char- 
ity, out  of  a  Pure  Heart"    127 

SCENE   X. 
Aunt  Hitty  comes  to  "make  over,"  and  sup- 
plies  Back   Numbers  to   all  the  Village 
Histories 143 

SCENE  XI. 
Miss  Vilda  decides  that  Two  is  One  too  many, 
and  Timothy  breaks  a  Humming-Bird's  Egg  161 

SCENE  XII. 
Lyddy  Pettigrove's  Funeral 181 

SCENE  XIII. 
Pleasant  River  is  baptized  with  the  Spirit  of 
Adoption 193 


CONTENTS  vii 

SCENE    XIV. 
Timothy  Jessup  runs  away  a  Second  Time,  and, 

LIKE     OTHER     BLESSINGS,      BRIGHTENS     AS     He 

takes  His  Flight 211 

SCENE   XV. 
Like  all  Dogs  in  Fiction,  the  Faithful  Rags 
guides  Miss  Vilda  to  His  Little  Master     .  229 

SCENE   XVI. 
Timothy's  Quest  is  ended,  and  Samantha  says, 
"Come  along,  Dave" 243 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 


SCENE    I 

NUMBER    THREE,    MINERVA    COURT 
FIRST    FLOOR    FRONT 


Flossy  Morrison  learns  the  Secret  of  Death  without 
ever  having  learned  the  Secret  of  Life 


TNERVA  COURT  !    Veil  thy 

face,  O    Goddess  of   Wisdom, 

for  never  surely  was  thy  fair 

name  so  ill  bestowed  as  when 

it  was  applied  to  this  most  dreary 

place ! 

It  was  a  little  less  than  street,  a 
little  more  than  alley,  and  its  only 
possible  claim  to  decency  came  from 
comparison  with  the  busier  thorough- 
fare out  of  which  it  opened.  This  was  so 
much  fouler,  with  its  dirt  and  noise,  its 
stands  of  refuse  fruit  and  vegetables,  its 
dingy  shops  and  all  the  miserable  traffic 
that  the  place  engendered,  its  rickety  door- 
ways blocked  with  lounging  men,  its  Blows- 
abellas  leaning  on  the  window-sills,  that  the 
Court  seemed  by  contrast  a  most  desirable 
and  retired  place  of  residence. 

Nevertheless  it  was  a  dismal  spot,  with 
not  even  an  air  of  faded  gentility  to  recom- 
mend it.     It  seemed  to  have  no  better  days 


6  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

behind  it,  nor  to  hold  within  itself  the  possi- 
bility of  any  future  improvement.  It  was 
narrow,  and  extended  only  the  length  of  a 
city  block,  yet  it  was  by  no  means  wanting 
in  many  of  the  luxuries  which  mark  this 
era  of  modern  civilization.  At  each  cor- 
ner there  were  groceries,  with  commodious 
sample-rooms  attached,  and  a  small  saloon, 
called  "  The  Dearest  Spot "  (which  it  un- 
doubtedly was  in  more  senses  than  one),  in 
the  basement  of  a  house  at  the  farther  end. 
It  was  necessary,  however,  for  the  bibulous 
native  who  dwelt  in  the  middle  of  the  block 
to  waste  some  valuable  minutes  in  dragging 
himself  to  one  of  these  fountains  of  bliss  at 
either  end ;  but  at  the  time  my  story  opens 
a  wide-awake  philanthropist  was  fitting  up 
a  neat  and  attractive  little  barroom,  called 
"  The  Oasis,"  at  a  point  equally  distant  be- 
tween the  other  two  springs  of  human  joy. 

This  benefactor  of  humanity  had  a  vault- 
ing ambition.  He  desired  to  slake  the  thirst 
of  every  man  in  Christendom  ;  but  as  this 
was  impossible  from  the  very  nature  of 
things,  he  determined  to  settle  in  some 
arid   spot   like  Minerva   Court,  and  irrigate 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  7 

it  so  sweetly  and  copiously  that  all  men's 
noses  would  blossom  as  the  roses.  To  sup- 
ply his  brothers'  wants,  and  create  new  ones 
at  the  same  time,  was  his  purpose  in  estab- 
lishing this  Oasis  in  the  Desert  of  Minerva 
Court ;  and  it  might  as  well  be  stated  here 
that  he  was  prospered  in  his  undertaking, 
as  any  man  is  sure  to  be  who  cherishes 
lofty  ideals  and  attends  to  his  business  in- 
dustriously. 

The  Minerva  Courtier  thus  had  good 
reason  to  hope  that  the  supply  of  liquid  re- 
freshment would  bear  some  relation  to  the 
demand,  and  that  the  march  of  modern  pro- 
gress would  continue  to  diminish  the  dis- 
tance between  his  own  mouth  and  that  of 
the  bottle,  which,  as  he  took  it,  was  the 
be-all  and  end-all  of  existence. 

At  present,  however,  as  the  Oasis  was 
not  open  to  the  public,  children  carrying 
pitchers  of  beer  were  often  to  be  seen  hur- 
rying to  and  fro  on  their  miserable  errands. 
There  were  very  few  children  in  Minerva 
Court,  thank  God  !  —  they  were  not  popular 
there.  There  were  frowzy,  sleepy-looking 
women  hanging"  out  of  their  windows,  gos- 


8  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

siping  with  their  equally  unkempt  and  hag- 
gard neighbors  ;  apathetic  men  sitting  on  the 
doorsteps,  in  their  shirt  -  sleeves,  smoking  ; 
a  dull,  dirty  baby  or  two  disporting  itself  in 
the  gutter  ;  while  the  sound  of  a  melancholy 
accordion  floated  from  an  upper  chamber, 
and  added  its  discordant  mite  to  the  general 
desolation. 

The  sidewalks  had  apparently  never  known 
the  touch  of  a  broom,  and  the  middle  of  the 
street  looked  more  like  an  elongated  junk- 
heap  than  anything  else.  Every  evil  smell 
known  to  the  nostrils  of  man  was  abroad  in 
the  air,  and  several  were  floating  about  wait- 
ing modestly  to  be  classified,  after  which 
they  intended  to  come  to  the  front  and  outdo 
the  others  if  they  could. 

That  was  Minerva  Court  !  A  little  piece 
of  your  world,  my  world,  God's  world  (and 
the  Devil's),  lying  peacefully  fallow,  await- 
ing the  services  of  some  inspired  Home 
Missionary  Society. 

In  a  front  room  of  Number  Three,  a  dilap- 
idated house  next  the  corner,  there  lay  a 
still,  white  shape,  with  two  women  watching 
by  it. 


TIMOTHY'S  QUEST  9 

A  sheet  covered  it.  Candles  burned  at 
the  head,  striving  to  throw  a  gleam  of  light 
on  a  dead  face  that  for  many  a  year  had 
never  been  illuminated  from  within  by  the 
brightness  of  self-forgetting  love  or  kindly 
sympathy.  If  you 
had  raised  the  sheet, 
you  would  have  seen 
no  happy  smile  as  of 
a  half-remembered, 
innocent  childhood  ; 
the  smile  —  is  it  of 
peaceful  memory 
or  serene  anticipa- 
tion ?  —  that  some- 
times shines  on  the 
faces  of  the  dead. 

Such    life-secrets 
as  were  exposed  by 
Death    and  written 
on  that  still    coun- 
tenance   in    charac- 
ters that  all  might  read,  were  painful  ones. 
Flossy    Morrison    was    dead.       The     name 
"  Flossy "  was    a  relic  of   what  she  termed 
her  better  days  (Heaven    save    the  mark!), 


Innocent  Childhood 


io  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

for  she  had  been  called  Mrs.  Morrison  of 
late  years,  —  "Mrs.  F.  Morrison,"  who  took 
"children  to  board,  and  no  questions  asked  " 
—  nor  answered.  She  had  lived  forty-five 
years,  as  men  reckon  summers  and  winters ; 
but  she  had  never  learned,  in  all  that  time, 
to  know  her  Mother,  Nature,  her  Father, 
God,  nor  her  brothers  and  sisters,  the  chil- 
dren of  the  world.  She  had  lived  friendless 
and  unfriendly,  keeping  none  of  the  ten 
commandments,  nor  yet  the  eleventh,  which 
is  the  greatest  of  all ;  and  now  there  was 
no  human  being  to  slip  a  flower  into  the  still 
hand,  to  kiss  the  clay-cold  lips  at  the  remem- 
brance of  some  sweet  word  that  had  fallen 
from  them,  or  drop  a  tear  and  say,  "  I  loved 
her !  " 

Apparently,  the  two  watchers  did  not  re- 
gard Flossy  Morrison  even  in  the  light  of 
"  the  dear  remains,"  as  they  are  sometimes 
called  at  country  funerals.  They  were  in 
the  best  of  spirits  (there  was  an  abundance 
of  beer),  and  their  gruesome  task  would  be 
over  in  a  few  hours,  for  it  was  nearly  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning  and  the  body  was  to 
be  taken  away  at  ten. 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  n 

"  I  tell  you  one  thing,  Ettie,  Flossy  has  n't 
left  any  bother  for  her  friends,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Nancy  Simmons,  settling  herself  back 
in  her  rocking-chair.  "  As  she  did  n't  own 
anything  but  the  clothes  on  her  back,  there 
won't  be  any  quarreling  over  the  property  !  " 
and  she  chuckled  at  her  delicate  humor. 

"  No,"  answered  her  companion,  who, 
whatever  her  sponsors  in  baptism  had  chris- 
tened her,  called  herself  Ethel  Montmorency. 
"  I  s'pose  the  furniture,  poor  as  it  is,  will 
pay  the  funeral  expenses,  and  if  she  's  got 
any  debts,  why,  folks  will  have  to  whistle  for 
their  money,  that's  all." 

"  The  only  thing  that  worries  me  is  the 
children,"  said  Mrs.  Simmons. 

"  You  must  be  hard  up  for  something  to 
worry  about,  to  take  those  young  ones  on 
your  mind.  They  ain't  yours  nor  mine,  and 
what 's  more,  nobody  knows  who  they  do  be- 
long to,  and  nobody  cares  ;  soon  as  break- 
fast 's  over  we  '11  pack  'em  off  to  some  insti- 
tution or  other,  and  that  '11  be  the  end  of  it. 
What  did  Flossy  say  about  'em,  when  you 
spoke  to  her  yesterday  ?  " 

"  I  asked  her  what  she  wanted  clone  with 


12  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

the  young  ones,  and  she  said,  '  Do  what  you 
like  with  'em,  drat  'em,  —  it  don't  make  no 
odds  to  me  ! '  and  then  she  turned  over  and 
died.  Those  was  the  last  words  she  spoke, 
dear  soul  ;  but,  Lor',  she  was  n't  more  'n 
half  sober,  and  had  n't  been  for  a  week." 

"  She  was  sober  enough  to  keep  her  own 
counsel,  I  can  tell  you  that,"  said  the  gentle 
Ethel.  "  I  don't  believe  there 's  a  living 
soul  that  knows  where  those  children  came 
from;  —  not  that  anybody  cares,  now  that 
there  ain't  any  money  in  'em." 

"Well,  as  for  that,  I  only  know  that  when 
Flossy  was  seeing  better  days  and  lived  in 
the  upper  part  of  the  city,  she  used  to  have 
money  come  every  month  for  taking  care  of 
the  boy.  Where  it  come  from  I  don't  know ; 
but  I  kind  of  surmise  it  was  a  long  distance 
off.  Then  she  took  to  drinking,  and  got 
lower  and  lower  down  until  she  came  here, 
six  months  ago.  I  don't  suppose  the  boy's 
folks,  or  whoever  it  was  sent  the  money, 
knew  the  way  she  was  living,  though  they 
could  n't  have  cared  much,  for  they  never 
came  to  see  how  things  were  ;  he  was  in  an 
asylum  before  Flossy  took  him,  I  found  that 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  13 

out  ;  but,  anyhow,  the  money  stopped  com- 
ing more  than  three  months  ago.  Flossy 
wrote  twice  to  the  folks,  whoever  they  were, 
but  did  n't  get  no  answer  to  her  letters  ;  and 
she  told  me  that  she  should 
turn  the  boy  out  in  a  week  or 
two  if  some  cash  did  n't  turn 
up  in  that  time  ;  she  would  n't 
have  kept  him  so  long  as  this 
if  he  hadn't  been  so  handy 
taking  care  of  the  baby." 

"  Well,  who    does   the  baby 
belong  to  ? " 

"  You  ask  me  too  much," 
replied  Nancy,  taking  another 
deep  draught  from  the  pitcher. 
—  "Help  yourself,  Ettie,  there's  plenty 
more  where  that  came  from.  —  Flossy  never 
liked  the  boy,  and  always  wanted  to  get  rid 
of  him,  but  could  n't  afford  to.  He  's  a 
dreadful  queer,  old-fashioned  little  kid,  and 
so  smart  that  he  's  gettin'  to  be  a  reg'lar 
nuisance  round  the  house.  But  you  see 
he  and  the  baby,  —  Gabrielle  's  her  name, 
though  they  call  her  Lady  Gay,  or  some  such 
trash,  after  that  actress  that  comes  here  so 


So  handy 


14  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

much,- — well,  they  are  so  in  love  with  one 
another  that  wild  horses  could  n't  drag  'em 
apart  ;  and  I  think  Flossy  had  a  kind  of  a 
likin'  for  Gay,  as  much  as  she  ever  had  for 
anything.  I  guess  she  never  abused  either 
of  'em  ;  she  was  too  careless  for  that.  And 
so  —  what  was  I  talkin'  about  ?  —  Oh,  yes, 
—  I  don't  know  who  the  baby  is,  nor  who 
paid  for  her  keep,  but  she  's  goin'  to  be  one 
o'  your  high-steppers,  and  no  mistake.  She 
might  be  Queen  Victory's  daughter  by  the 
airs  she  puts  on  ;  I  'd  like  to  keep  her  my- 
self if  she  was  a  little  older,  and  I  was  n't 
goin'  away  from  here." 

"  I  s'pose  they  '11  make  an  awful  row  at 
being  separated,  won't  they?"  asked  the 
younger  woman. 

"  Oh,  like  as  not  ;  but  they  '11  have  to 
have  their  row  and  get  over  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Simmons  easily.  "  You  can  take  Timothy 
to  the  Orphan  Asylum  first,  and  then  come 
back,  and  I  '11  carry  the  baby  to  the  Home 
of  the  Ladies'  Relief  and  Protection  So- 
ciety ;  and  if  they  yell  they  can  yell,  and 
take  it  out  in  yellin' ;  they  won't  get  the 
best  of  Nancy  Simmons." 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  15 

"  Don't  talk  so  loud,  Nancy,  for  mercy's 
sake  ;  if  the  boy  hears  you,  he  '11  begin  to 
take  on,  and  we  shan't  get  a  wink  of  sleep. 
Don't  let  'em  know  what  you  're  goin'  to  do 
with  'em  till  the  last  minute,  or  you  '11  have 
trouble  as  sure  as  we  sit  here." 

"Oh,  they  are  sound  asleep,"  responded 
Mrs.  Simmons,  with  an  uneasy  look  at  the 
half-open  door.  "  I  went  in  and  dragged  a 
pillow  out  from  under  Timothy's  head,  and 
he  never  budged.  He  was  sleepin'  like  a 
log,  and  so  was  Gay.  Now,  shut  up,  Et, 
and  let  me  get  three  winks  myself.  You 
take  the  lounge,  and  I  '11  stretch  out  in  two 
chairs.  Wake  me  up  at  eight  o'clock,  if  I 
don't  wake  myself  ;  for  I  am  clean  tired  out 
with  all  this  fussin'  and  plannin',  and  I  feel 
stupid  enough  to  sleep  till  kingdom  come." 


SCENE    II 

NUMBER    THREE,    MINERVA    COURT 
FIRST    FLOOR    BACK 


Little  Timothy  Jcssnp  assumes  Parental 
Responsibilities 


'HEN  the  snores  of  the  two 
watchers  fell  on  the  stillness 
of    the    death-chamber,    with 
that  cheerful  regularity  that  be- 
tokens the  sleep  of  the  truly  good, 
a  little  figure  crept  out  of  the  bed 
in  the  adjoining  room,  and  closing 
the  door  noiselessly,  but  with  trem- 
bling fingers,  stole  to  the  window 
to  look  out  at  the  dirty  street  and 
gray    sky,    over   which    the    first   faint 
streaks  of  dawn  were  beginning  to  creep. 

It  was  little  Timothy  Jessup  (God  alone 
knows  whether  he  had  any  right  to  that 
special  patronymic),  but  not  the  very  same 
Tim  Jessup  who  had  kissed  the  baby  Gay  in 
her  crib,  and  gone  to  sleep  on  his  own  hard 
bed  in  that  room,  a  few  hours  before.  As 
he  stood  shivering  at  the  window,  one  thin 
hand  hard  pressed  upon  his  heart  to  still  its 
beating,  there  was  a  light  of  sudden  resolve 
in  his  eyes,  a  new-born  look  of  anxiety  on  his 
unchildlike  face. 


2Q  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"  I   will  not    have    Gay  protectioned    and 

reliefed,  and  I  will  not  be  taken  away  from 
her  and  sent  to  a  'sylum,  where  I  can  never 
find  her  again ! "  and  with  these  defiant 
words  trembling,  half  spoken,  on  his  lips,  he 
glanced  from  the  unconscious  form  in  the 
crib  to  the  terrible  door,  which  might  open 
at  any  moment  and  divide  him  from  his 
heart's  delight,  his  darling,  his  treasure,  his 
only  joy,  his  own,  own  baby  Gay. 

What  should  he  do  ?  Run  away ;  that 
was  the  only  solution  of  the  matter,  and  no 
very  difficult  one  either.  The  cruel  women 
were  asleep  ;  the  awful  Thing  that  had  been 
Flossy  would  never  speak  again  ;  and  no 
one  else  in  Minerva  Court  cared  enough  for 
them  to  pursue  them  very  far  or  very  long. 

"  And  so,"  thought  Timothy  swiftly,  "  I 
will  get  things  ready,  take  Gay,  and  steal 
softly  out  of  the  back  door,  and  run  away  to 
the  'truly'  country,  where  none  of  these  bad 
people  ever  can  find  us,  and  where  I  can  get 
a  mother  for  Gay  ;  somebody  to  'dopt  her 
and  love  her  till  I  grow  up  a  man  and  take 
her  to  live  with  me." 

The     moment    this    thought    darted    into 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  21 

Timothy's  mind,  it   began  to  shape    itself  in 
definite  action. 

Gabrielle,  or  Lady  Gay,  as  Flossy  called 
her,  in  honor  of  her  favorite  stage  heroine, 
had  been  tumbled  into  her  crib  half  dressed 
the  night  before.  The  only  vehicle  kept  for 
her  use  in  the  family  stables  was  a  clothes- 
basket,  mounted  on  four  wooden  wheels  and 
cushioned  with  a  dingy 
shawl.  A  yard  of  clothes- 
line was  tied  on  to  one 
end,  and  in  this  humble 
conveyance  the  Princess 
would  have  to  be  trans- 
ported from  the  Ogre's 
castle,  for  she  was  scarcely 
old  enough  to  accompany 
the  Prince  on  foot,  even 
if  he  had  dared  to  risk  de- 
tection by  waking  her  ;  so 
the  clothes-basket  must  be 
her  chariot,  and  Timothy  her  charioteer,  as 
on  many  a  less  fateful  expedition. 

After  he  had  changed  his  ragged  night- 
gown for  a  shabby  suit  of  clothes,  he  took 
Gay's    one    clean    apron     out    of   a   rickety 


' '  A  shabby  suit  of  clothes   " 


22  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

bureau  drawer  ("for  I  can  never  find  a  mo- 
ther for  her  if  she  's  too  dirty,"  he  thought), 
her  Sunday  hat  from  the  same  receptacle, 
and  last  of  all  a  comb,  and  a  faded  Japanese 
parasol  that  stood  in  a  corner.  These  he 
deposited  under  the  old  shawl  that  decorated 
the  floor  of  the  chariot.  He  next  groped 
his  way  in  the  dim  light  toward  a  mantel- 
shelf, and  took  down  a  savings-bank,  —  a 
florid  little  structure  with  "  Bank  of  Eng- 
land "  stamped  over  the  miniature  door,  into 
which  the  jovial  gentleman  who  frequented 
the  house  often  slipped  pieces  of  silver  for 
the  children,  and  into  which  Flossy  dipped 
only  when  she  was  in  a  state  of  temporary 
financial  embarrassment.  Timothy  did  not 
dare  to  jingle  it ;  he  could  only  hope  that  as 
Flossy  had  not  been  in  her  usual  health  of 
late  (though  in  more  than  her  usual  "  spir- 
its "),  she  had  not  felt  obliged  to  break  the 
bank. 

Now  for  provisions.  There  were  plenty 
of  "funeral  baked  meats"  in  the  kitchen; 
so  he  hastily  gathered  a  dozen  cookies  into  a 
towel  and  stowed  them  in  the  coach  with  the 
other  sinews  of  war. 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  23 

So  far,  well  and  good  ;  but  the  worst  was 
to  come.  With  his  heart  beating  in  his 
bosom  like  a  trip-hammer,  and  his  eyes  di- 
lated with  fear,  he  stepped  to  the  door  be- 
tween the  two  rooms,  and  opened  it  softly- 
Two  thundering  snores,  pitched  in  such  dif- 
ferent keys  that  they  must  have  proceeded 
from  two  separate  sets  of  nasal  organs,  reas- 
sured the  boy.  He  looked  out  into  the  alley. 
"  Not  a  creature  was  stirring,  not  even  a 
mouse."  The  Minerva  Courtiers  could  not 
be  owls  as  well  as  hawks,  and  there  was  not 
even  the  ghost  of  a  sound  to  be  heard.  Sat- 
isfied that  all  was  well,  Timothy  went  back 
to  the  bedroom,  and  lifted  the  battered 
clothes-basket,  trucks  and  all,  in  his  slender 
arms,  carried  it  up  the  alley  and  down  the 
street  a  little  distance,  and  deposited  it  on 
the  pavement  beside  a  vacant  plot  of  ground. 
This  done,  he  sped  back  to  the  house. 
"  How  beautifully  they  snore  !  "  he  thought, 
as  he  stood  again  on  the  threshold.  "  Shall  I 
leave  'em  a  letter  ?  .  .  .  P'raps  I  better  .  .  . 
and  then  they  won't  follow  us  and  bring  us 
back."  So  he  scribbled  a  line  on  a  bit  of  torn 
paper  bag,  and  pinned  it  on  the  enemies' 
door. 


24  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

"  A  kind  Lady  is  goin  to  Adopt 
us  it  is  a  Grate  ways  off  so  do  not 
Hunt  good  by.       #  Tim." 

Now  all  was  ready.  No ;  one  thing  more. 
Timothy  had  been  met  in  the  street  by  a 
pretty  young  girl  a  few  weeks  before.  The 
love  of  God  was  smiling  in  her  heart,  the 
love  of  children  shining  in  her  eyes  ;  and 
she  led  him,  a  willing  captive,  into  a  mis- 
sion Sunday-school  near  by.  So  much  in 
earnest  was  the  sweet  little  teacher,  and  so 
hungry  for  any  sort  of  good  tidings  was  the 
starved  little  pupil,  that  Timothy  "  got  re- 
ligion "  then  and  there,  as  simply  and  nat- 
urally as  a  child  takes  its  mother's  milk. 
He  was  probably  in  a  state  of  crass  igno- 
rance regarding  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  ;  but 
it  was  the  "  engrafted  word,"  of  which  the 
Bible  speaks,  that  had  blossomed  in  Tim- 
othy's heart ;  the  living  seed  had  always  been 
there,  waiting  for  some  beneficent  fostering 
influence ;  for  he  was  what  dear  Charles 
Lamb  would  have  called  a  natural  "  king- 
dom-of-heavenite."     Thinking,  therefore,    of 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  25 

Miss  Dora's  injunction  to  pray  over  all  the 
extraordinary  affairs  of  life  and  as  many  of 
the  ordinary  ones  as  possible,  he  hung  his 
tattered  straw  hat  on  the  bed-post,  and  knelt 
beside  Gay's  crib  with  this  whispered 
prayer :  — 

"  Our  Father  who   art   in    heaven,  please 
help  me  to  find  a  mother  for  Gay,  the  kind 
that  she  can  call  Mamma,  and  another  one  for 
me,  if  there  's  enough,  but  not  unless.     Please 
excuse  me  for  taking  away  the  clothes-basket, 
tv  ] lie  J  1  docs  not  exactly  belong  to  7  is  ;  but  if  I 
do  not  take  it,  dear  heavenly  Father,  how  zvill 
I  get  Gay  to  the  railroad?   And 
if  I  don't  take  the  Japanese  um- 
brella she  zvill  get  freckled  and 
nobody  will  adopt  her  on  account 
of  her  red  hair.      No  more  at 
present,  as  I  am  in  a  great  hurry. 
Amen." 

He  put  on  his  hat,  stooped 
over  the  sleeping  baby,  and  took 
her  in  his  faithful  arms,  —  arms 
that  had  never  failed  her  yet. 
She  half  opened  her  eyes,  and 

Safe  on  Timothy's 

seeing  that  she  was  safe  on  her  shoulder 


26  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

beloved  Timothy's  shoulder,  clasped  her  dim- 
pled arms  tight  about  his  neck,  and  with  a 
long  sigh  drifted  off  again  into  the  land  of 
dreams.  Bending  beneath  her  weight,  he 
stepped  for  the  last  time  across  the  threshold, 
not  even  daring  to  close  the  door  behind  him. 

Up  the  alley  and  round  the  corner  he 
sped,  as  fast  as  his  trembling  legs  could 
carry  him.  Just  as  he  was  within  sight  of 
the  goal  of  his  ambition,  that  is,  the  chariot 
aforesaid,  he  fancied  he  heard  the  sound  of 
hurrying  feet  behind  him.  To  his  fevered 
imagination  the  tread  was  like  that  of  an 
avenging  army  on  the  track  of  the  foe.  He 
did  not  dare  to  look  behind.  On  !  for  the 
clothes-basket  and  liberty  !  He  would  re- 
linquish the  Japanese  umbrella,  the  cookies, 
the  comb,  and  the  apron,  —  all  the  booty,  in 
fact, — as  an  inducement  for  the  enemy  to 
retreat,  but  he  would  never  give  up  the  pris- 
oner. 

On  the  feet  hurried,  faster  and  faster. 
He  stooped  to  put  Gay  in  the  basket,  and 
turned  in  despair  to  meet  his  pursuers, 
when  a  little,  grimy,  rough-coated,  lop-eared, 
split-tailed  thing,  like  an  animated  rag-bag, 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  27 

leaped  upon  his  knees ;  whimpering  with 
joy,  and  imploring",  with  every  grace  that  his 
simple  doggish  heart  could  suggest,  to  be  one 
of  the  eloping  party. 

Rags  had  followed  them  ! 

Timothy  was  so  glad  to  find  it  no  worse 
that  he  wasted  a  moment  in  embracing  the 
dog,  whose  delirious  joy  at  the  prospect  of 
this  probably  dinnerless  and  supperless  ex- 
pedition was  ludicrously  exaggerated.  Then 
he  took  up  the  rope  and  trundled  the  chariot 
gently  clown  a  side  street  leading  to  the  sta- 
tion. 

Everything  worked  to  a  charm.  They 
met  only  an  occasional  milk  (and  water) 
man,  starting  on  his  matutinal  rounds,  for 
it  was  now  after  four  o'clock,  and  one  or 
two  cavaliers  of  uncertain  gait,  just  return- 
ing to  their  homes,  several  hours  too  late  for 
their  own  good  ;  but  these  gentlemen  were 
in  no  condition  of  mind  to  be  over-inter- 
ested, and  the  little  fugitives  were  troubled 
with  no  questions  as  to  their  intentions. 

Thus  they  went  out  into  the  world  to- 
gether, these  three  :  Timothy  Jessup  (if  it 
was   Jessup),  brave   little   knight,  nameless 


28  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

nobleman,  tracing  his  descent  back  to  God, 
the  Father  of  us  all,  and  bearing  the  Divine 
likeness  more  than  most  of  us ;  the  little 
Lady  Gay,  —  somebody  —  nobody  —  any- 
body,—  from  nobody  knows  where,  —  des- 
tination equally  uncertain  ;  and  Rags,  of 
pedigree  most  doubtful,  scutcheon  quite  ob- 
scured by  blots,  but  a  perfect  gentleman, 
true-hearted  and  loyal  to  the  core,  —  in  fact, 
an  angel  in  fur.  These  three,  with  the 
clothes-basket  as  personal  property  and  a 
toy  Bank  of  England  as  security,  went  out 
to  seek  their  fortune  ;  and,  unlike  Lot's  wife, 
without  daring  to  look  behind,  shook  the 
dust  of  Minerva  Court  from  off  their  feet 
forever  and  forever. 


"•Si^j 


SCENE    III 

THE    RAILWAY    STATION 

Timothy  flans  a  Campaign,  and  Providence  assists 
materially  in  carrying  it  out,  or  vice  versa 


Y  dint  of  skillful 
generalship,  Tim- 
othy gathered  his 
fllL  )  forces  on  a  green 
bank  just  behind  the  railway 
f '''  depot,  cleared  away  a  sufficient  number 
of  tin  cans  and  oyster-shells  to  make  a  flat 
space  for  the  chariot  of  war,  which  had  now 
become  simply  a  cradle,  and  sat  down,  with 
Rags  curled  up  at  his  feet,  to  plan  the  cam- 
paign. 

He  pushed  back  the  ragged  hat  from  his 
waving  hair,  and,  clasping  his  knees  with  his 
hands,  gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  towering 
chimneys  in  the  foreground  and  the  white- 
winged  ships  in  the  distant  harbor.  There 
was  a  glimpse  of  something  like  a  man's  pur- 
pose in  the  sober  eyes ;  and  as  the  morning 


32  TIMOTHY'S  QUEST 

sunlight  fell  upon  his  earnest  face,  the  angel 
in  him  came  to  the  surface,  and  crowded  the 
"  boy  part  "  quite  out  of  sight,  as  it  has  a 
way  of  doing  sometimes  with  children. 

How  some  father  -  heart  would  have 
throbbed  with  pride  to  own  him,  and  how 
gladly  lifted  the  too  heavy  burden  from  his 
childish  shoulders  ! 

Timothy  Jessup,  aged  ten  or  eleven,  or 
thereabouts,  — the  records  had  not  been  kept 


Timothy  surveying  the  Situation 

with  absolute  exactness,  —  Timothy  Jessup, 
somewhat  ragged,  all  forlorn,  and  none  too 
clean  at  the  present  moment,  was  a  poet, 
philosopher,  and  lover  of  the  beautiful.  The 
dwellers  in  Minerva  Court  had  never  discov- 
ered the  fact ;  for,  although  he  had  lived  in 
that  world,  he  had  most  emphatically  never 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  33 

been  of  it.  He  was  a  boy  of  strange  notions, 
and  the  vocabulary  in  which  he  expressed 
them  was  stranger  still ;  furthermore,  he  had 
gentle  manners,  which  must  have  been  indi- 
genous, as  they  had  certainly  never  been 
cultivated ;  and,  although  he  had  been  in  the 
way  of  handling  pitch  for  many  a  day,  it  had 
been  powerless  to  defile  him,  such  was  the 
essential  purity  of  his  nature. 

To  find  a  home  and  a  mother  for  Lady 
Gay  had  been  Timothy's  secret  longing  ever 
since  he  had  heard  people  say  that  Flossy 
Morrison  might  die.  He  had  once  enjoyed 
all  the  comforts  of  a  Home  with  a  capital  H  ; 
but  it  was  the  cosy  one  with  the  little  "h  " 
that  he  so  much  desired  for  her. 

Not  that  he  had  any  ill  treatment  to  re- 
member in  the  excellent  institution  of  which 
he  was  for  several  years  an  inmate.  The 
matron  was  an  amiable  and  hard-working 
woman,  who  wished  to  do  her  duty  to  all  the 
children  under  her  care  ;  but  it  would  be  an 
inspired  human  being  indeed  who  could  give 
a  hundred  and  fifty  motherless  or  fatherless 
children  all  the  education  and  care  and  train- 
ing they  needed,  to  say  nothing  of  the  love 


34  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

that  they  missed  and  craved.  What  wonder, 
then,  that  an  occasional  hungry  little  soul 
starved  for  want  of  something  not  provided 
by  the  management  ;  say,  a  morning  cuddle 
in  mother's  bed  or  a  ride  on  father's  knee,  — 
in  short,  the  sweet  daily  jumble  of  lap- 
trotting,  gentle  caressing,  endearing  words, 
twilight  stories,  motherly  tucks-in-bed,  good- 
night kisses,  —  all  the  dear,  simple,  every- 
day accompaniments  of  the  home  with  the 
little  "  h." 

Timothy  Jessup,  bred  in  such  an  atmos- 
phere, would  have  gladdened  every  life  that 
touched  his  at  any  point.  Plenty  of  wistful 
men  and  women  would  have  thanked  God 
nightly  on  their  knees  for  the  gift  of  such  a 
son ;  and  here  he  was,  sitting  on  a  tin  can, 
bowed  down  with  family  cares,  while  thou- 
sands of  graceless  little  scalawags  were  slap- 
ping the  faces  of  their  French  nurse-maids 
and  bullying  their  parents,  in  that  very  city. 
—  Ah  me  ! 

As  for  the  tiny  Lady  Gay,  she  had  all  the 
winsome  virtues  to  recommend  her.  No  one 
ever  feared  that  she  would  die  young  out  of 
sheer  goodness.     You  would  not  have  loved 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  35 

her  so  much  for  what  she  was  as  because 
you  could  not  help  yourself.  This  feat  once 
accomplished,  she  blossomed  into  a  thousand 
graces,  each  one  more  bewitching  than  the 
last  you  noted. 

Where,  in  the  name  of  all  the  sacred  laws 
of  heredity,  did  the  child  get  her  sunshiny 
nature  ?  Born  in  misery,  and  probably  in 
sin,  nurtured  in  wretchedness  and  poverty, 
she  had  brought  her  "radiant  morning  vi- 
sions "  with  her  into  the  world.  Like 
Wordsworth's  immortal  babe,  "with  trailing 
clouds  of  glory "  had  she  come,  from  God 
who  was  her  home ;  and  the  heaven  that  lies 
about  us  all  in  our  infancy, — that  Garden 
of  Eden  into  which  we  are  all  born,  like 
the  first  man  and  the  first  woman,  —  that 
heaven  lay  about  her  still,  stronger  than  the 
touch  of  earth. 

What  if  the  room  were  desolate  and  bare? 
The  yellow  sunbeams  stole  through  the  nar- 
row window,  and  in  the  shaft  of  light  they 
threw  across  the  dirty  floor  Gay  played,  — 
oblivious  of  everything  save  the  flickering 
golden  rays  that  surrounded  her. 

The  raindrops   chasing  each    other   down 


36  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

the  dingy  pane,  the  snowflakes  melting  softly 
on  the  casement,  the  brown  leaf  that  the 
wind  blew  into  her  lap  as  she  sat  on  the 
sidewalk,  the  chirp  of  the  little  beggar-spar- 
rows over  the  cobblestones,  all  these  brought 
as  eager  a  light  into  her  baby  eyes  as  the 
costliest  toy.  With  no  earthly  father  or 
mother  to  care  for  her,  she  seemed  to  be 
God's  very  own  baby,  and  He  amused  her 
in  his  own  good  way ;  first  by  locking  her 
happiness  .within  her  own  soul  (the  only 
place  where  it  is  ever  safe  for  a  single  mo- 
ment), and  then  by  putting  her  under  Tim- 
othy's paternal  ministrations. 

Timothy's  mind  traveled  back  over  the 
past,  as  he  sat  among  the  tin  cans  and  looked 
at  Rags  and  Gay.  It  was  a  very  small  story, 
if  he  ever  found  any  one  who  would  care 
to  hear  it.  There  was  a  long  journey  in  a 
great  ship,  a  wearisome  illness  of  many 
weeks,  —  or  was  it  months?  — when  his 
curls  had  been  cut  off,  and  all  his  memories 
with  them  ;  then  there  was  the  Home  ;  then 
there  was  Flossy,  who  came  to  take  him 
away  ;  then  —  oh,  bright,  bright  spot  !  oh, 
blessed  time  !  —  there  was  baby  Gay  ;  then, 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  2,7 

worse  than  all,  there  was  Minerva  Court. 
But  he  did  not  give  many  minutes  to  rem- 
iniscence. He  first  broke  open  the  Bank 
of  England,  and  threw  it  away,  after  finding 
to  his  joy  that  their  fortune  amounted  to 
one  dollar  and  eighty-five  cents.  This  was 
so  much  in  advance  of  his  expectations  that 
he  laughed  aloud,  and  Rags,  wagging  his  tail 
with  such  vigor  that  he  nearly  broke  it  in 
two,  jumped  into  the  cradle  and  woke  the 
baby. 

Then  there  was  a  happy  family  circle,  you 
may  believe  me,  and  with  good  reason,  too  ! 
A  trip  to  the  country  (meals  and  lodging 
uncertain,  but  that  was  a  trifle),  a  sight  of 
green  meadows,  where  Timothy  would  hear 
real  birds  sing  in  the  trees,  and  Gay  would 
gather  wild-flowers,  and  Rags  would  chase, 
and  perhaps  —  who  knows  ?  —  catch,  tooth- 
some squirrels  and  fat  little  field-mice,  of 
which  the  country  dogs  visiting  Minerva 
Court  had  told  the  most  mouth-watering 
tales.  Gay's  transport  knew  no  bounds. 
Her  child-heart  felt  no  regret  for  the  past, 
no  care  for  the  present,  no  anxiety  for  the 
future.     The  only  world  she  cared  for  was 


38  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

in  her  sight ;  and  she  had  never,  in  her  brief 
experience,  gazed  upon  it  with  more  radiant 
anticipation  than  on  this  sunny  June  morn- 
ing, when  she  had  opened  her  bright  eyes  on 
a  pleasant,  odorous  bank  of  oyster-shells,  in- 
stead of  on  the  accustomed  surroundings  of 
Minerva  Court. 

Breakfast  was  first  in  order. 

There  was  a  pump  conveniently  near,  and 
the  oyster-shells  made  capital  cups.  Gay 
had  three  cookies,  Timothy  two,  and  Rags 
one  ;  but  there  was  no  statute  of  limitations 
placed  on  the  water  ;  every  one  had  as  much 
as  he  could  drink. 

The  little  matter  of  toilets  came  next. 
Timothy  took  the  dingy  rag  which  did  duty 
for  a  handkerchief,  and,  calling  the  pump 
again  into  requisition,  scrubbed  Gay's  face 
and  hands  tenderly,  but  firmly.  Her  clothes 
were  then  all  smoothed  down  tidily,  but  the 
clean  apron  was  kept  for  the  eventful  mo- 
ment when  her  future  mother  should  first 
be  allowed  to  behold  the  form  of  her  adopted 
child. 

The  comb  was  then  brought  out,  and  her 
mop  of  red-gold  hair  was  assisted  to  fall  in 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  39 

wet  spirals  all  over  her  lovely  head.  Her 
Sunday  hat  being  tied  on,  as  the  crowning 
glory,  this  lucky  little  princess,  this  child  of 
Fortune,  so  inestimably  rich  in  her  own 
opinion,  this  daughter  of  the  gods,  I  say,  was 
returned  to  the  basket,  where  she  endeavored 
to  keep  quiet  until  the  next  piece  of  delight- 
ful unexpectedness  should  rise  from  fairy- 
land upon  her  excited  gaze. 

Timothy  and  Rags  now  went  to  the  pump, 
and  Rags  was  held  under  the  spout.  This 
was  a  new  and  bitter  experience,  and  he 
wished  for  a  few  brief  moments  that  he  had 
never  joined  the  noble  army  of  deserters, 
but  had  stayed  where  dirt  was  fashionable. 
Being  released,  the  sense  of  abnormal  clean- 
liness mounted  to  his  brain,  and  he  tore 
breathlessly  round  in  a  circle  seventy-seven 
times  without  stopping.  This  only  dried  his 
hair  and  amused  Gay,  who  was  beginning 
to  find  the  basket  confining,  and  who  clam- 
ored for  "  Timfy  "  to  take  her  to  "yide." 
Timothy  attended  to  himself  last,  as  usual. 
He  put  his  own  head  under  the  pump,  and 
scrubbed  his  face  and  hands  heartily  ;  wip- 
ing   them    on    his  —  well,    he   wiped    them, 


40  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

and  that  is  the  main  thing ;  besides,  his 
handkerchief  had  been  reduced  to  a  pulp  in 
Gay's  service.  He  combed  his  hair,  pulled 
up  his  stockings  and  tied  his  shoes  neatly, 
buttoned  his  jacket  closely  over  his  shirt, 
and  was  just  pinning  up  the  rent  in  his  hat, 
when  Rags  considerately  brought  another 
suggestion  in  the  shape  of  an  old  chicken- 
wing,  with  which  he  brushed  every  speck  of 
dust  from  his  clothes.  This  done,  and  being 
no  respecter  of  persons,  he  took  the  family 
comb  to  Rags,  who  woke  the  echoes  during 
the  operation,  and  hoped  to  the  Lord  that 
the  squirrels  would  run  slowly  and  that  the 
field-mice  would  be  very  tender,  to  pay  him 
for  this. 

It  was  now  nearly  eight  o'clock,  and  the 
party  descended  the  hillside  and  entered  the 
side  door  of  the  station. 

The  day's  work  had  long  since  begun,  and 
there  was  the  usual  din  and  uproar  of  rail- 
road traffic.  Trucks,  laden  high  with  boxes 
and  barrels,  were  being  driven  to  the  wide 
doors.  The  porters  were  thundering  and 
thumping  and  lurching  the  freight  from  one 
set  of  cars  into  another  ;  their  primary  ob- 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  41 

jects  being  to  make  a  racket  and  demolish 
raw  material,  thereby  increasing  manufac- 
ture and  export,  but  incidentally  to  load  or 
unload  as  much  freight  as  possible  in  a  given 
time. 

Timothy  entered,  trundling  his  carriage, 
where  Lady  Gay  sat  enthroned  like  a  Mur- 
ray Hill  belle  on  a  dog-cart,  conscious  pride 
of  Sunday  hat  on  week-day  morning  exud- 
ing from  every  feature ;  and  Rags  followed 
close  behind,  clean,  but  with  a  crushed  spirit, 
which  he  could  stimulate  only  by  the  most 
seductive  imaginations.  No  one  molested 
them,  for  Timothy  was  very  careful  not  to 
get  in  any  one's  way.  Finally,  he  drew  up 
in  front  of  a  high  blackboard,  on  which  the 
names  of  various  way-stations  were  printed 
in  gold  letters. 


42 


TI 


E  SBvjry 

S  cratch. Conner 

£DavJooo 


pLE&* 


MOTHY'S   QUEST 

"  The  names  get  nicer 
and  nicer  as  you  read  down 
the  line,  and  the  furtherest 
one  of  all  is  the  very  pret- 
tiest, so  I  guess  we  '11  go 
there,"  thought  Timothy, 
not  realizing  that  his  choice 
was  based  on  most  insecure 
foundations  ;  and  that,  for 
aught  he  knew,  the  milk  of 
human  kindness 
might  have  more 
cream  on  it  at 
Scratch  Corner 
than  at  Pleasant 


"  I  guess  we  '//  go  there  " 

River,  though  the  latter  name  was  certainly 
more  attractive. 

Gay  approved  of   Pleasant  River,  and   so 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  43 

did  Rags  ;  and  Timothy  moved  off  down  the 
station  to  a  place  on  the  open  platform 
where  a  train  of  cars  stood  ready  for  start- 
ing, the  engine  at  the  head  gasping  and  puff- 
ing and  breathing  as  hard  as  if  it  had  an 
acute  attack  of  asthma. 

"  How  much  does  it  cost  to  go  to  Pleasant 
River,  please  ?  "  asked  Tim,  bravely,  of  a 
kind-looking  man  in  a  blue  coat  and  brass 
buttons,  who  stood  by  the  cars. 

"  This  is  a  freight  train,  sonny,"  replied 
the  man  ;  "  takes  four  hours  to  get  there. 
Better  wait  till  ten  forty-five ;  buy  your 
ticket  up  in  the  station." 

"  Ten  forty-five  !  "  Tim  saw  visions  of 
Mrs.  Simmons  speeding  down  upon  him  in 
hot  pursuit,  kindled  by  Gay's  disappearance 
into  a  tardy  appreciation  of  her  charms. 

The  tears  stood  in  his  eyes  as  Gay  clam- 
bered out  of  the  basket  and  danced  with 
impatience,  exclaiming,  "  Gay  wants  to  yide 
now  !  yide  now  !  yide  now  !  " 

"  Did  you  want  to  go  sooner  ?  "  asked  the 
man,  who  seemed  to  be  entirely  too  much 
interested  in  humanity  to  succeed  in  the  rail- 
road business.     "Well,  as  you  seem  to  have 


44  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

consid'rable  of  a  family  on  your  hands,  I 
guess  we  '11  take  you  along.  Jim,  unlock 
that  car  and  let  these  children  in,  and  then 
lock  it  up  again.  It 's  a  car  we  're  taking  up 
to  the  end  of  the  road  for  repairs,  bubby, 
so  the  comp'ny  '11  give  you  and  your  folks  a 
free  ride  ! " 

Timothy  thanked  the  man  in  his  politest 
manner,  while  Gay  pressed  a  piece  of  moist 
cooky  in  his  hand,  and  offered  him  one  of 
her  swan's-down  kisses,  a  favor  of  which  she 
was  usually  as  chary  as  if  it  had  possessed  a 
market  value. 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  the  dog  ?  "  asked 
the  man,  as  Rags  darted  up  the  steps  with 
sniffs  and  barks  of  ecstatic  delight.  "  He 
ain't  so  handsome  but  you  can  get  another 
easy  enough  !  "  (Rags  held  his  breath  in 
suspense,  and  wondered  if  he  had  been  put 
under  a  roaring  cataract,  and  then  ploughed 
in  deep  furrows  with  a  sharp-toothed  instru- 
ment of  torture,  only  to  be  left  behind  at 
last  !) 

"That's  just  why  I  take  him,"  said  Tim- 
othy ;  "  because  he  is  n't  handsome  and  has 
nobody  else  to  love  him." 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  45 

("  Not  a  very  polite  reason,"  thought 
Rags  ;  "but  anything  to  go  !  ") 

"Well,  jump  in,  dog  and  all,  and  they'll 
give  you  the  best  free  ride  to  the  country 
you  ever  had  in  your  life  !  Tell  'em  it 's  all 
right,  Jim  ;"  and  the  train  steamed  out  of 
the  depot,  while  the  kind  man  waved  his 
bandana  handkerchief  until  the  children 
were  out  of  sight. 


SCENE    IV 

PLEASANT    RIVER 

Jabe  S locum  assumes  tJie  Role  of  Guardian  Angel 


ABE   SLOCUM  had 
been  down  to  Edge- 
wood,    and    was    just   re- 
turning to  the  White   Farm 
i'"  byway  of  the  cross-roads  and 

Hard  Scrabble  schoolhouse.  He  was  in  no 
hurry,  although  he  always  had  more  work 
on  hand  than  he  could  leave  undone  for  a 
month  ;  and  Maria  also  was  taking  her  own 
time,  as  usual,  even  stopping  now  and  then 
to  crop  an  unusually  sweet  tuft  of  grass  that 
grew  within  smelling  distance,  and  which  no 
mare  with  a  driver  like  Jabe  could  afford  to 
pass  without  notice. 

Jabe  was  ostensibly  out  on  an  "errant" 
for  Miss  Avilda  Cummins;  but,  as  he  had 
been  in  her  service  for  six  years,  she  had  no 


50  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

expectations  of  his  accomplishing  anything 
beyond  getting  to  a  place  and  getting  back 
in  the  same  day,  the  distance  covered  being 
no  factor  at  all  in  the  matter. 

One  need  not  apply,  however,  to  Miss 
Avilda  Cummins  for  a  description  of  Jabe 
Slocum's  peculiarities.  They  were  all  so 
written  upon  his  face  and  figure  and  speech 
that  the  wayfaring  man,  though  a  fool,  could 
not  err  in  his  judgment.  He  was  a  long, 
loose,  knock-kneed,  slack-twisted  person,  and 
would  have  been  "  longer  yit  if  he  hed  n't 
hed  so  much  turned  up  for  feet  "  —  so  Aunt 
Hitty  Tarbox  said.  (Aunt  Hitty  went  from 
house  to  house  in  Edgewood  and  Pleasant 
River,  making  over  boys'  clothes  ;  and  as  her 
tongue  flew  as  fast  as  her  needle,  her  sharp 
speeches  were  always  in  circulation  in  both 
villages.) 

Mr.  Slocum  had  sandy  hair,  high  cheek- 
bones, a  pair  of  kindly  light  blue  eyes,  and 
a  most  unique  nose ;  I  hardly  know  to  what 
order  of  architecture  this  belonged,  —  per- 
haps Old  Colonial  would  describe  it  as  well 
as  anything  else.  It  was  a  wide,  flat,  well- 
ventilated,   hospitable   edifice,   so  peculiarly 


TIMOTHY'S  QUEST  51 

constructed  and  applied  that  Samantha  Ann 
Ripley  (of  whom  more  anon)  declared  that 
"  the  reason  Jabe  Slocum  ketched  cold  so 
easy  was  that,  if  he  didn't  hold  his  head  jess 
so,  it  kep'  a-rainin'  in  on  him  ! " 

His  mouth  was  simply  an  enormous  slit 
in  his  face,  and  served  all  the  purposes  for 
which  a  mouth  is  presumably  intended,  save, 
perhaps,  the  trivial  one  of  decoration.  In 
short  (a  ludicrously  inappropriate  word  for 
the  subject),  it  was  a  capital  medium  for 
exits  and  entrances,  but  no  ornament  to  his 
countenance.  When  Rhapsena  Crabb,  now 
deceased,  was  first  engaged  to  Jabez  Slocum, 
Aunt  Hitty  Tarbox  said  it  beat  her  "  how 
Rhapseny  ever  got  over  Jabe's  mouth ; 
though  she  could  'a'  got  intew  it  easy  'nough, 
or  raound  it,  if  she  took  plenty  o'  time." 
But  perhaps  Rhapsena  appreciated  a  mouth 
(in  a  husband)  that  never  was  given  to 
"  jawin',"  and  which  uttered  only  kind  words 
during  her  brief  span  of  married  life.  More- 
over, there  was  precious  little  leisure  for 
kissing  at  Pleasant  River. 

As  Jabe  had  passed  the  store,  a  few  min- 
utes before,  one  of  the  boys  had  called  out, 


52  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

facetiously,  "  Say  !  Shet  yer  mouth  when  ye 
go  by  the  deepot,  Laigs  ;  the  train  's  comin' 
in  ! "  But  he  only  smiled  placidly,  though  it 
was  an  ancient  joke,  the  flavor  of  which  had 
just  fully  penetrated  the  rustic  skull  ;  and 
the  villagers  could  not  resist  titillating  the 
sense  of  humor  with  it  once  or  twice  a 
month.  Neither  did  Jabez  mind  being  called 
"  Laigs,"  the  local  pronunciation  of  the  word 
"  legs  ;  "  in  fact,  his  good  humor  was  too  deep 
to  be  ruffled.  His  "  cistern  of  wrathfulness 
was  so  small,  and  the  supply  pipe  so  un- 
ready," that  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  put 
him  out,  so  the  natives  said. 

He  was  a  man  of  tolerable  education  ;  the 
only  son  of  his  parents,  who  had  endeavored 
to  make  great  things  of  him,  and  might  per- 
haps have  succeeded,  if  he  had  n't  always 
had  so  little  time  at  his  disposal,  —  "  had  n't 
been  so  drove,"  as  he  expressed  it.  He 
went  to  the  village  school  as  regularly  as  he 
could  not  help,  that  is,  as  many  days  as  he 
could  not  contrive  to  stay  away,  until  he  was 
fourteen.  From  there  he  was  sent  to  the 
Academy,  three  miles  distant ;  but  his  mo- 
ther soon  found  that  he  couldn't  make  the 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  53 

two  trips  a  day  and  be  "  under  cover  by 
candlelight ;  "  so  the  plan  of  a  classical  edu- 
cation was  abandoned,  and  he  was  allowed 
to  speed  the  home  plough,  —  a  profession 
which  he  pursued  with  such  moderation  that 
his  father,  when  starting  him  down  a  furrow 
in  the  morning,  used  to  hang  his  dinner-pail 
on  his  arm,  and,  bidding  him  good-by,  beg 
him,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  to  be  back  before 
sundown. 

At  the  present  moment  Jabe  was  enjoy- 
ing a  cud  of  Old  Virginia  plug  tobacco,  and 
taking  in  no  more  of  the  landscape  than  he 
could  avoid,  when  Maria,  having  wound  up 
to  the  top  of  Marm  Berry's  hill,  in  spite  of 
herself  walked  directly  out  on  one  side  of 
the  road,  and  stopped  short  to  make  room 
for  the  passage  of  an  imposing  procession, 
made  up  of  one  clothes-basket  on  wheels,  one 
baby,  one  strange  boy,  and  one  strange  dog. 

Jabe,  who  loved  children,  eyed  the  party 
with  some  placid  interest,  but  with  no  un- 
due excitement.  Shifting  his  huge  quid, 
he  inquired  in  his  usual  leisurely  manner, 
"  Which  way  yer  goin',  bub,  —  t'  the  Swamp 
or  t'  the  Falls  ?  " 


54 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

Timothy  thought  neither 
sounded  especially  inviting, 
but,  rapidly  choosing  the  lesser 
evil,  replied,  "  To  the  Falls, 
sir." 

"  Thy  way  happens  to  be 
my   way,    's    Rewth     said    to 


Naomi  ;  so  'f  gittin' 
over  the  road  's  your 
objeck,  'n'  y'  ain't 
pertickler  'baout  the 
gait  ye  travel,  ye 
can  git  in  'n'  ride 
a  piece.  We  don't 
b'lieve  in  hurryin,' 
Mariar  'n'  me. 
Slow  'n'   easy   goes 


"Which  way  yer  goitr,  bub  V 

fur  in  a  day  's  our  motto.  Can  ye  git  your 
folks  aboard  withaout  spillin'  any  of  'em  ?" 

No  wonder  he  asked,  for  Gay  was  in  such 
a  wild  state  of  excitement  that  she  could 
hardly  be  held. 

"  I  can  lift  Gay  up,  if  you  '11  please  take 
her,  sir,"  said  Timothy  ;  "  and  if  you  're 
quite  sure  the  horse  will  stand  still." 

"Bless  your  soul,    she'll  stan'   all    right; 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  55 

she  '11  stan'  while  you  're  gittin'  in  'n'  con- 
sid'rable  of  a  spell  afterwards  ;  in  point  o' 
fact,  she  likes  stan'in'  a  heap  better  'n  she 
doos  goin'.  Runnin'  away  ain't  no  tempta- 
tion to  Maria  Cummins ;  let  well  enough 
alone  's  her  motto.  Jump  in,  sissy  !  There 
ye  be  !  Now  git  yer  baby-shay  in  the  back 
of  the  wagon,  bubby,  'n'  we  '11  be 's  snug  's 
a  bug  in  a  rug." 

Timothy,  whose  creed  was  simple  and 
whose  beliefs  were  crystal  clear,  now  felt 
that  his  morning  prayer  had  been  heard, 
and  that  the  Lord  was  on  his  side  ;  there- 
fore he  abandoned  all  idea  of  commanding 
the  situation,  and  gave  himself  up  to  the  full 
ecstasy  of  the  ride,  as  they  jogged  peacefully 
along  the  river  road. 

Gay  held  a  piece  of  a  rein  that  peeped 
from  Jabe's  colossal  hand  (which  was  said 
by  the  villagers  to  cover  almost  as  much 
territory  as  the  hand  of  Providence),  and 
was  convinced  that  she  was  driving  Maria, 
an  idea  that  made  her  speechless  with  joy. 

Rags'  wildest  dreams  of  squirrels  came 
true  ;  and,  reconciled  at  length  to  cleanli- 
ness,   he    was    capering  in   and  out    of   the 


56  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

woods,  thinking  what  an  Arabian  Nights' 
entertainment  he  would  give  the  Minerva 
Court  dogs  when  he  returned,  if  return  he 
ever  must  to  that  miserable,  squirrelless 
hole. 

The  meadows  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  were  gorgeous  with  yellow  buttercups, 
and  here  and  there  a  patch  of  blue  iris  or 
wild  sage.  The  black  cherry  trees  were 
masses  of  snowy  bloom  ;  the  water  at  the 
river's  edge  held  spikes  of  blue  arrowweed 
in  its  crystal  shallows  ;  while  the  roadside 
itself  was  gay  with  daisies  and  feathery 
grasses. 

In  the  midst  of  this  loveliness  flowed 
Pleasant  River, 

"  Vexed  in  all   its  seaward  course  by  bridges,  dams,  and 
mills," 

but  finding  time,  during  the  busy  summer 
months,  to  flush  its  fertile  banks  with  beauty. 

Suddenly  (a  word  that  could  seldom  be 
truthfully  applied  to  the  description  of  Jabe 
Slocum's  movements)  the  reins  were  ruth- 
lessly drawn  from  Lady  Gay's  hands  and 
wound  about  the  whipstock. 

"  Gorry  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Slocum,  "  ef  I 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  57 

hain't  left  the  wiclder  Foss  settin'  on  Aunt 
Hitty's  hoss-block,  'n'  I  promised  to  pick  her 
up  when  I  come  along  back  !  That  all  comes 
o'  my  drivin'  by  the  store  so  fast  on  account 
o'  the  boys  hectorin'  of  me,  so  't  when  I  got 
to  the  turn  I  was  so  kind  of  het  up  I  jogged 
right  along  the  straight  road.  Haste  makes 
waste  's  an  awful  good  motto.  Pile  out, 
young  ones  !  It 's  only  half  a  mile  from  here 
to  the  Falls,  'n'  you  '11  have  to  get  there  on 
Shank's  mare,  for  certain  !  " 

So  saying,  he  dumped  the  astonished  chil- 
dren into  the  middle  of  the  road,  from 
whence  he  had  plucked  them,  turned  the 
docile  mare,  and  with  a  "  Git,  Mariar ! " 
went  four  miles  back  to  relieve  Aunt  Hitty's 
horse-block  from  the  weight  of  the  widder 
Foss  (which  was  no  joke  !). 

This  turn  of  affairs  was  most  unexpected, 
and  Gay  seemed  on  the  point  of  tears  ;  but 
Timothy  gathered  her  a  handful  of  wild- 
flowers,  wiped  the  dust  from  her  face,  put 
on  the  clean  blue  gingham  apron,  and  estab- 
lished her  in  the  basket,  where  she  soon  fell 
asleep,  wearied  by  the  excitements  of  the 
day. 


58  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

Timothy's  heart  began  to  be  a  little  trou- 
bled as  he  walked  on  and  on  through  the 
leafy  woods,  trundling  the  basket  behind 
him.  Nothing  had  gone  wrong ;  indeed, 
everything  had  been  much  easier  than  he 
could  have  hoped.  Perhaps  it  was  the  weari- 
ness that  had  crept  into  his  legs,  and  the 
hollowness  that  began  to  appear  in  his 
stomach ;  but,  somehow,  although  in  the 
morning  he  had  expected  to  find  Gay's  new 
adopted  mothers  beckoning  from  every  win- 
dow, so  that  he  could  scarcely  choose  be- 
tween them,  he  now  felt  as  if  the  whole  race 
of  mothers  had  suddenly  become  extinct. 

Soon  the  village  came  in  sight,  nestled  in 
the  laps  of  the  green  hills  on  both  sides  of 
the  river.  Timothy  trudged  bravely  on, 
scanning  all  the  dwellings,  but  finding  none 
of  them  just  the  thing.  At  last  he  turned 
deliberately  off  the  main  road,  where  the 
houses  seemed  too  near  together  and  too 
near  the  street  for  his  taste,  and  trundled 
his  family  down  a  shady  sort  of  avenue,  over 
which  the  arching  elms  met  and  clasped 
hands. 

Rags    had  by  this   time  lowered    his  tail 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  59 

to  half-mast,  and  kept  strictly  to  the  beaten 
path,  notwithstanding  manifold  temptations 
to  forsake  it.  He  passed  two  cats  without 
a  single  insulting  remark,  and  his  entire  de- 
meanor was  eloquent  of  nostalgia. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  sighed  Timothy  disconso- 
lately ;  "there  's  something  wrong  with  all 
the  places.  Either  there  's  no  pigeon-house, 
like  in  all  the  pictures  of  the  country,  or 
no  flower  garden,  or  no  chickens,  or  no  lady 
at  the  window,  or  else  there  's  lots  of  baby- 
clothes  hanging  on  the  wash-lines.  I  don't 
believe  I  shall  ever  find  "  — 

At  this  moment  a  large,  comfortable  white 
house,  that  had  been  heretofore  hidden  by 
great  trees,  came  into  view.  Timothy  drew 
nearer  to  the  spotless  picket  fence,  and  gazed 
upon  the  beauties  of  the  side  yard  and  the 
front  garden,  —  gazed  and  gazed,  and  fell 
desperately  in  love  at  first  sight. 

The  whole  thing  had  been  made  as  if  to 
order  ;  that  is  all  there  is  to  say  about  it. 
There  was  an  orchard,  and,  oh  ecstasy  ! 
what  hosts  of  green  apples  !  There  was  an 
alluring  grindstone  under  one  tree,  and  a 
bright  blue  chair  and  stool   under  another ; 


60  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

a  thicket  of  currant  and  gooseberry  bushes, 
and  a  flock  of  young  turkeys  ambling  awk- 
wardly through  the  barn.  Timothy  stepped 
gently  along  in  the  thick  grass,  past  a  pump 
and  a  mossy  trough,  till  a  side  porch  came 
into  view,  with  a  woman  sitting  there  sewing 
bright-colored  rags.  A  row  of  shining  tin 
pans  caught  the  sun's  rays,  and  threw  them 
back  in  a  thousand  glittering  prisms  of  light ; 
the  grasshoppers  and  crickets  chirped  sleep- 
ily in  the  warm  grass,  and  a  score  of  tiny 
yellow  butterflies  hovered  over  a  group  of 
odorous  hollyhocks. 

Suddenly  the  person  on  the  porch  broke 
into  a  cheerful  song,  pitched  in  so  high  a  key 
and  given  with  such  emphasis  that  the  crick- 
ets and  grasshoppers  retired  by  mutual'  con- 
sent from  any  further  competition,  and  the 
butterflies  suspended  operations  for  several 
seconds  :  — 

"  I  '11  chase  the  antelope  over  the  plain, 
The  tiger's  cub  I  '11  bind  with  a  chain, 
And  the  wild  gazelle  with  the  silv'ry  feet, 
I  '11  bring  to  thee  for  a  playmate  sweet." 

Timothy  listened  intently  for  some  mo- 
ments, not  understanding  the  words,  unless 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  61 

the  lady  happened  to  be  in  the  menagerie 
business,  which  he  thought  unlikely,  but  de- 
lightful should  it  prove  true. 

His  eye  then  fell  on  a  little  marble  slab 
under  a  tree  in  a  shady  corner  of  the  or- 
chard. 

"That  must  be  a  country  doorplate,"  he 
thought;    "yes,    it's    got   the   lady's   name, 


"  That  must  be  a  couutry  doorplate  " 

'  Martha  Cummins,'  printed  on  it.     Now  I  '11 
know  what  to  call  her." 

He  crept  softly  on  to  the  front  side  of  the 
house.  There  were  flower  beds,  a  lovable 
white  cat  snoozing  on  the  doorsteps,  and  a 
lady  sitting  at  the  open  window  knitting,  — 
in  all  probability  Gay's  adopted  mother. 


62  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

At  this  vision  Timothy's  heart  beat  so  hard 
against  his  jacket  that  he  could  only  stagger 
back  to  the  basket,  where  Rags  and  Lady 
Gay  were  snuggled  together  fast  asleep.  He 
anxiously  scanned  Gay's  face  ;  moistened  his 
rag  of  a  handkerchief  at  the  only  available 
source  of  supply ;  scrubbed  an  atrocious  dirt 
spot  from  the  tip  of  her  spirited  nose ;  and 
then,  dragging  the  basket  along  the  path 
leading  to  the  front  gate,  he  opened  it  and 
went  in,  mounted  the  steps,  plied  the  brass 
knocker,  and  waited  in  childlike  faith  for  a 
summons  to  enter  in  and  make  himself  at 
home. 


SCENE    V 

THE    WHITE    FARM.       AFTERNOON 

Timothy  finds  a  House  in  which  He  thinks  a  Baby  is 

needed,  but  the  Inmates  do  not  entirety  agree 

with  Him 


'EANWHILE,  Miss  Avil- 

cla  Cummins  had  left  her 

H     "  J  l     window    and    gone    into 

the  next  room  for  a  skein 

of  yarn.     She  answered  the  knock, 

however ;    and,    opening   the    door, 

'       stood   rooted    to    the    threshold    in 

speechless    astonishment,    very    much  as    if 

she  had  seen  the    shades  of   her   ancestors 

drawn  up  in  line  in  the  dooryard. 

Off  went  Timothy's  hat.  He  had  not  seen 
the  lady's  face  very  clearly  when  she  was 
knitting  at  the  window,  or  he  would  never 
have  dared  to  knock  ;  but  it  was  too  late  to 
retreat.  Looking  straight  into  her  cold  eyes 
with  his  own  shining  gray  ones,  he  said 
bravely,  but  with  a  trembling  voice,  "  Please 
—  do  you  need  any  babies  here,  if  you 
please  ?  "  (Need  any  babies  !  What  an  in- 
appropriate, nonsensical  expression,  to  be 
sure  ;  as  if  a  baby  in  a  house  were  something 


66  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

exquisitely  indispensable,  like  the  breath  of 
life,  for  instance !) 

No  answer.  Miss  Vilda  was  trying  to 
assume  command  of  her  scattered  faculties 
and  find  some  clue  to  the  situation.  Tim- 
othy concluded  that  she  was  not,  after  all, 
the  lady  of  the  house;  and,  remembering 
the  marble  doorplate  in  the  orchard,  tried 
again.  "Does  Miss  Martha  Cummins  live 
here,  if  you  please  ?  "  (Oh,  Timothy  !  what 
induced  you,  in  this  crucial  moment  of  your 
life,  to  touch  upon  that  sorest  spot  in  Miss 
Vilda's  memory  ?) 

"What  do  you  want  ?  "  she  faltered. 

"  I  want  to  get  somebody  to  adopt  my 
baby,"  he  said  ;  "  if  you  have  n't  got  any  of 
your  own,  you  could  n't  find  one  half  as  dear 
and  as  pretty  as  she  is,  and  she  does  n't 
freckle  so  much  in  the  winter  time.  You 
need  n't  have  me,  too,  you  know,  unless  you 
need  me  to  help  take  care  of  her." 

"  You  're  very  kind,"  Miss  Avilda  answered 
sarcastically,  preparing  to  shut  the  door  upon 
the  strange  child;  "but  I  don't  think  I  care 
to  adopt  any  babies  this  afternoon,  thank 
you.     You  'd  better  run  right  back  home  to 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  67 

your  mother,  if  you  've  got  one,  and  know 
where  't  is,  anyhow." 

"But  I  —  have  n't!"  cried  poor  Timothy, 
with  a  sudden  and  unpremeditated  burst  of 
tears  at  the  failure  of  his  hopes,  for  he  was 
half  child  as  well  as  half  hero.  At  this  junc- 
ture Gay  opened  her  eyes  and  burst  into  a 
wild  howl  at  the  unwonted  sight  of  Tim- 
othy's grief ;  while  Rags,  who  was  full  of  ex- 
quisite sensibility,  and  quite  ready  to  weep 
with  those  who  did  weep,  lifted  up  his  woolly 
head  and  added  his  piteous  wails  to  the  con- 
cert.    It  was  a  tableau  vivant. 

"  Samanthy  Ann  !  "  called  Miss  Vilda  ex- 
citedly ;  "  Samanthy  Ann  !  Come  right  in 
here  and  tell  me  what  to  do  !  " 

The  person  thus  adjured  flew  in  from  the 
porch,  leaving  a  serpentine  trail  of  red,  yel- 
low, and  blue  rags  in  her  wake.  "  Land  o' 
liberty ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  surveyed 
the  group.  "  Where  'd  they  come  from,  and 
what  air  they  tryin'  to  act  out  ? " 

"  This  boy  's  a  baby  agent,  as  near  as  I 
can  make  out ;  he  wants  I  should  adopt  this 
red-headed  baby,  but  says  I  ain't  obliged  to 
take  him  too,  and  makes  out  they  have  n't 


68  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

got  any  home.  I  told  him  I  wan't  adoptin' 
any  babies  just  now,  and  at  that  he  burst 
out  cryin',  and  the  other  two  followed  suit. 
Now,  have  the  three  of  'em  just  escaped 
from  some  asylum,  or  are  they  too  little  to 
be  lunatics? " 

Timothy  dried  his  tears  in  order  that  Gay 
should  be  comforted  and  appear  at  her  best, 
and  said  penitently :  "  I  cried  before  I 
thought,  because  Gay  has  n't  had  anything 
but  cookies  to  eat  since  last  night,  and 
she  '11  have  no  place  to  sleep  unless  you  '11 
let  us  stay  here  just  till  morning.  We 
went  by  all  the  other  houses,  and  chose  this 
one  because  everything  was  just  what  we 
wanted." 

"  Nothin'  but  cookies  sence  —  Land  o'  lib- 
erty ! "  ejaculated  Samantha  Ann,  starting 
for  the  kitchen. 

"  Come  back  here,  Samanthy  !  Don't  you 
leave  me  alone  with  'em,  and  don't  let 's  have 
all  the  neighbors  runnin'  in.  Take  'em  into 
the  kitchen  and  give  'em  somethin'  to  eat, 
and  we  '11  see  about  the  rest  afterwards." 

Gay  kindled  at  the  first  casual  mention  of 
food,  and  trying  to  clamber  out  of  the  basket, 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 


69 


fell  over  the  edge,  thumping  her  head  smartly 
on  the  stone  steps.  Miss  Vilda  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  waited  shudder- 
ingly  for  another  yell,  as  the  child's  carna- 
tion stockings  and  terra-cotta  head  mingled 
wildly  in  the  air.  But  Lady  Gay  disen- 
tangled herself,  and  laughed  the  merriest 
burst  of  laughter  that  ever  woke  the  echoes. 
That  was  a  joke  ;  her  life  was  full  of  them, 
served  fresh  every  day,  for  no  sort  of  ad- 
versity could  long  have  power_  over  such 
a  nature  as  hers.  "  Come  get  supper,"  she 
cooed,  putting  her  hand 
in  Samantha's ;  adding 
that  the  "  nasty  lady 
need  n't  come,"  a  re- 
mark that  happily  es- 
caped detection,  as  it 
was  rendered  in  very  un- 
intelligible "  early  Eng- 
lish." 

Miss  Avilda  tottered 
into  the  darkened  sit- 
ting-room and  sank  on 

to  a  black  hair-cloth  sofa,  while  Samantha 
ushered  the  wanderers  into  the  sunny  kitchen, 


In  the  Kitchen 


yo  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

muttering  to  herself  :  "  Wall,  I  vow  !  travelin' 
over  the  country  all  alone,  'n'  not  knee-high 
to  a  toad  !  They  're  sendin'  out  awful  young 
tramps  this  season,  but  they  shan't  go  away 
from  this  house  hungry,  not  if  I  know  it." 

Accordingly  she  set  out  a  plentiful  sup- 
ply of  bread  and  butter,  gingerbread,  pie, 
and  milk,  put  a  tin  plate  of  cold  hash  in  the 
shed  for  Rags,  sweeping  him  out  to  it  with 
a  corn  broom,  violently,  as  is  the  manner 
in  that  section,  and,  telling  the  children 
comfortably  to  cram  their  "everlasthV  little 
bread-baskets  full,"  returned  to  the  sitting- 
room. 

"Now,  whatever  makes  you  so  panicky, 
Vildy?  Didn't  you  never  see  a  tramp  be- 
fore, for  pity's  sake  ?  And  if  you  're  scar't 
for  fear  I  can't  handle  'em  alone,  why,  Jabe'll 
be  comin'  along  soon.  The  prospeck  of  git- 
tin'  to  bed's  the  only  thing  that'll  make 
him  'n'  Maria  hurry ;  'n'  they  '11  both  be 
cal'latin'  on  that  by  this  time  !  " 

"  Samanthy  Ann,  the  first  question  that 
that  boy  asked  me  was,  if  Miss  Martha  Cum- 
mins lived  here.  Now,  what  do  you  make  of 
that  ?  " 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  71 

Samantha  looked  as  astonished  as  anybody 
could  wish.  "Asked  if  Marthy  Cummins 
lived  here  ?  How  under  the  canopy  did  he 
ever  hear  Marthy's  name  ?  Wall,  somebody 
told  him  to  ask,  that  's  all  there  is  about  it, 
and  what  harm  was  there  in  it,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know ;  but  the 
minute  that  boy  looked  up  at  me  and  asked 
for  Martha  Cummins,  the  old  trouble,  that 
I  thought  was  dead  and  buried  years  ago, 
started  right  up  in  my  heart  and  begun  to 
ache  just  as  if  it  all  happened  yesterday." 

"  Now  keep  stiddy,  Vildy,  what  could  hap- 
pen?" urged  Samantha. 

"  Why,  it  flashed  across  my  mind  in  a 
minute,"  and  here  Miss  Vilda  lowered  her 
voice  to  a  whisper,  "that  perhaps  Martha's 
baby  didn't  die  as  they  told  her." 

"  But,  land  o'  liberty,  s'posin'  it  did  n't  ! 
Poor  Marthy  died  herself  more  'n  twenty 
years  ago." 

"  I  know ;  but  supposing  her  baby  grew 
up  before  it  died,  and  left  one  of  these 
children  to  roam  round  the  world  afoot  and 
alone." 

"  You  're  cal'latin'  dreadful  close,  'pears  to 


72  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

me ;  now,  don't  go  sposin'  any  more  things. 
You  're  makin'  out  one  o'  them  yellow-cov- 
ered books,  sech  as  the  summer  boarders 
bring  out  here  to  read  ;  always  chock  full  of 
doin's  that  never  would  come  to  pass  in  this 
or  any  other  Christian  country.  You  jest 
lay  down  and  snuff  your  camphire,  an'  I'll 
go  out  an'  pump  that  boy  drier  'n  a  sand 
heap ! " 

Now  Miss  Avilda  Cummins  was  unmarried 
by  every  implication  of  her  being,  as  Henry 
James  would  say :  but  Samantha  Ann  Rip- 
ley was  a  spinster  purely  by  accident.  She 
had  seldom  been  exposed  to  the  witcheries 
of  children,  or  she  would  have  known  long 
before  this  that,  so  far  as  she  was  personally 
concerned,  they  would  always  prove  irresist- 
ible. She  marched  into  the  kitchen  like  a 
general  resolved  upon  the  extinction  of  the 
enemy.  She  walked  out  again,  half  an  hour 
later,  with  the  very  teeth  of  her  resolve 
drawn,  but  so  painlessly  that  she  had  not 
been  aware  of  the  operation  !  She  marched 
in  a  woman  of  single  purpose  ;  she  came  out 
a  double-faced  diplomatist,  with  the  seeds  of 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  73 

sedition   and   conspiracy  lurking,   all  unsus- 
pected, in  her  heart. 

The  cause  ?  Nothing  more  than  a  dozen 
trifles  light  as  air. 
Timothy  had  sat 
upon  a  little  wood- 
en stool  at  her  feet ; 
had  rested  his  arms 
on  her  knees  and 
looked  up  into  her 
kind,  rosy  face  with 
a  pair  of  liquid 
eyes  like  gray-blue 
lakes,  eyes  which 
seemed  and  were 
the  very  windows 
of  his  soul.  He  had  sat  there  telling  his 
wee  bit  of  a  story ;  just  a  vague,  shadowy, 
plaintive,  uncomplaining  scrap  of  a  story, 
without  beginning,  plot,  or  ending,  but  every 
word  in  it  set  Samantha  Ann  Ripley's  heart 
throbbing. 

Gay,  who  knew  a  good  thing  when  she  saw 
it,  had  climbed  up  into  her  capacious  lap, 
and,  not  being  denied,  had  cuddled  her  head 
into  that  "  gracious  hollow "  in  Samantha's 


Timothy  telling  his  Story 


74  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

shoulder  that  had  somehow  missed  the  pres- 
sure of  the  childish  heads  that  should  have 
lain  there.  Then  Samantha's  arm  had  finally 
crept  round  the  wheedlesome  bit  of  soft  hu- 
manity, and  before  she  knew  it  the  old  flag- 
bottomed  chair  was  swaying  gently  to  and 
fro,  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro ;  and  the  wooden 
rockers  creaked  more  sweetly  than  ever  they 
had  creaked  before,  for  they  were  singing 
their  first  cradle  song  ! 

Then  Gay  heaved  a  great  sigh  of  unspeak- 
able satisfaction,  and  closed  her  lovely  eyes. 
She  had  been  born  with  a  desire  to  be  cud- 
dled, and  had  had  precious  little  experience 
of  it.  At  the  sound  of  this  happy  sigh  and 
the  sight  of  the  child's  flower  face,  with  the 
upward  curling  lashes  on  the  pink  cheeks, 
the  oval  snow-drift  of  the  chin,  the  moist 
tendrils  of  hair  on  the  white  forehead,  and 
the  helpless,  unaccustomed,  clinging  touch 
of  the  baby  arm  about  her  neck,  I  cannot 
tell  you  the  why  or  wherefore,  but  old  mem- 
ories and  new  desires  began  to  stir  in  Sa- 
mantha  Ann  Ripley's  heart.  In  short,  she 
had  met  the  enemy,  and  she  was  theirs  ! 

Presently  Gay  was  laid  upon  the  old-fash- 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  75 

ionecl  settle,  and  Samantha  stationed  herself 
where  she  could  keep  the  flies  off  her  by 
waving  a  palm-leaf  fan. 

"  Now,  there  's  one  thing  more  I  want  you 
to  tell  me,"  said  she,  after  she  had  possessed 
herself  of  Timothy's  unhappy  past,  uncertain 
present,  and  still  more  dubious  future  ;  "  and 
that  is,  what  made  you  ask  for  Miss  Marthy 
Cummins  when  you  come  to  the  door?" 

"  Why,  I  thought  it  was  the  lady-of-the- 
house's  name,"  said  Timothy ;  "  I  saw  it  on 
her  cloorplate." 

"  But  we  ain't  got  any  doorplate,  to  begin 
with." 

"  Not  a  silver  one  on  your  door,  like  they 
have  in  the  city;  but  isn't  that  white 
marble  piece  in  the  yard  a  doorplate  ?  It 's 
got  'Martha  Cummins,  aged  17,'  on  it.  I 
thought  may  be  in  the  country  they  had 
them  in  their  gardens ;  only  I  thought  it 
was  queer  they  put  their  ages  on  them,  be- 
cause they  'd  have  to  be  scratched  out  every 
little  while,  would  n't  they?" 

"My  grief!"  ejaculated  Samantha:  "for 
pity's  sake,  don't  you  know  a  tombstun 
when  you  see  it  ?  " 


76  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"What  is  a  tombstim  ?  " 

"  Land  sakes !  what  do  you  know,  any- 
way ?  Did  n't  you  never  see  a  graveyard 
where  folks  is  buried  ?  " 

"  I  never  went  to  the  graveyard,  but  I 
know  where  it  is,  and  I  know  about  people's 
being  buried.  Flossy  is  going  to  be  buried. 
So  the  white  stone  shows  the  places  where 
the  people  are  put,  and  tells  their  names, 
does  it  ?  Why,  it  is  a  kind  of  a  doorplate, 
after  all,  don't  you  see?  —  Who  is  Martha 
Cummins,  aged  17  ?  " 

"  She  was  Miss  Vildy's  sister  that  went  to 
the  city,  and  then  come  home  and  died  here, 
long  years  ago.  Miss  Vildy  set  great  store 
by  her,  and  can't  bear  to  have  her  name 
spoke  ;  so  remember  what  I  say.  —  Now,  this 
'  Flossy '  you  tell  me  about  (of  all  the  fool 
names  I  ever  hearn  tell  of,  that  beats  all,  — 
sounds  like  a  wax  doll,  with  her  clo'es  sewed 
on  !),  was  she  a  young  woman  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  whether  she  was  young  or 
not,"  said  Tim,  in  a  puzzled  tone.  "She  had 
young  yellow  hair,  and  very  young  shiny 
teeth,  white  as  china ;  but  her  neck  was 
crackled  underneath,  like  Miss  Vilda's.  It 
had  no  kissing  places  in  it  like  Gay's." 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  77 

"Well,  you  stay  here  in  the  kitchen  a  spell 
now,  'n'  don't  let  in  that  rag-dog  o'  yourn 
till  he  stops  scratching  if  he  keeps  it  up  till 
the  crack  o'  doom  ; — he  's  got  to  be  learned 
better  manners.  Now,  I  '11  go  in  'n'  talk  to 
Miss  Vildy.  She  may  keep  you  over  night, 
'n'  she  may  not ;  I  ain't  noways  sure.  You 
started  in  wrong  foot  foremost." 


<keg&* 


SCENE   VI 

THE    WHITE    FARM.       EVENING 

Timothy,  Lady  Gay,  and  Rags  prove  faithful  to  each 
other 


AMANTHA   went   into 
the  sitting-room  and  told 
the  whole  story  to  Miss  Avil- 
da  ;  told   it   simply  and  plainly, 
for    she    was    not    given   to    ara- 
besques in  language,  and  then  waited 
for  a  response. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  advise  doin'  ? " 
asked  Miss  Cummins  nervously. 

"  I  don't  feel  comp'tent  to  advise, 
Vilda ;  the  house  ain't  mine,  nor  yet  the 
beds  that 's  in  it,  nor  the  victuals  in  the 
butt'ry ;  but  as  a  professin'  Christian  and 
member  of  the  Orthodox  Church  in  good 
and  reg'lar  standin',  you  can't  turn  them 
children  ou'doors  when  it 's  comin'  on  dark 
and  they  ain't  got  no  place  to  sleep." 

"  Plenty  of  good  Orthodox  folks  turned 
their  backs  on  Martha  when  she  was  in 
trouble." 


8a  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"  There  may  be  Orthodox  hogs,  for  all  I 
know,"  replied  the  blunt  Samantha,  who  fre- 
quently called  spades  shovels  in  her  search 
after  absolute  truth  of  statement,  "but  that 
ain't  no  reason  why  we  should  copy  after 
'em  's  I  know  of." 

"  I  don't  propose  to  take  in  two  strange 
children  and  saddle  myself  with  'em  for  days, 
or  weeks,  perhaps,"  said  Miss  Cummins 
coldly,  "  but  I  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  Sup- 
posing we  send  the  boy  over  to  Squire 
Bean's.  It  's  near  hayin'  time,  and  he  may 
take  him  in  to  help  round  and  do  chores. 
Then  we  '11  tell  him  before  he  goes  that 
we  '11  keep  the  baby  as  long  as  he  gets  a 
chance  to  work  anywheres  near.  That  will 
give  us  time  to  look  round  for  some  place 
for  'em  and  find  out  whether  they  've  told 
us  the  truth." 

"And  if  Squire  Bean  won't  take  the 
boy  ? "  asked  Samantha,  with  as  much  indif- 
ference as  she  could  assume. 

"Well,  I  suppose  there's  nothing  for  it 
but  he  must  come  back  here  and  sleep.  I  '11 
go  out  and  tell  him  so,  —  I  declare  I  feel  as 
weak  as  if  I  'd  had  a  spell  of  sickness !  " 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  83 

Timothy  bore  the  news  better  than  Sa- 
mantha  had  feared.  Squire  Bean's  farm  did 
not  look  so  very  far  away  ;  his  heart  was  at 
rest  about  Gay;  he  felt  that  he  could  find  a 
shelter  for  himself  somewhere,  and  anything 
was  better  than  a  Home  with  a  capital  H. 

"  Now,  how  '11  the  baby  act  when  she 
wakes  up  and  finds  you  're  gone  ?  "  inquired 
Miss  Vilda  anxiously,  as  Timothy  took  his 
hat  and  bent  down  to  kiss  the  sleeping  child. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  exactly,"  answered 
Timothy,  "because  she's  always  had  me, 
you  see.  But  I  think  she  '11  be  all  right, 
now  that  she  knows  you  a  little,  if  I  can  see 
her  every  day.  She  never  cries  except  once 
in  a  long  while  when  she  gets  mad  ;  and  if 
you  're  careful  how  you  behave,  she  '11  hardly 
ever  get  mad  at  you." 

"Well  I  vow  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Vilda  with 
a  grim  glance  at  Samantha,  "  I  guess  she  '11 
have  to  do  the  behavin'." 

So  Timothy  was  shown  the  way  across  the 
fields  to  Squire  Bean's.  Samantha  accom- 
panied him  to  the  back  gate,  where  she  gave 
him  three  doughnuts  and  a  sneaking  kiss, 
watching  him  out  of  sight  under  the  pretense 


84  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

of  taking  the  towels  and  napkins   off  the 
grass. 


It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  and  quite  dark 
when  Timothy  stole  again  to  the  little  gate 
of  the  White  Farm.  The  feet  that  had 
traveled  so  courageously  over  the  mile  walk 
to  Squire  Bean's  had  come  back  again  slowly 
and  wearily ;  for  it  is  one  thing  to  be  shod 
with  the  sandals  of 
hope,  and  quite  an- 
other to  tread  upon  the 
leaden  soles  of  disap- 
pointment. 

He  leaned  upon  the 
white  picket  gate  lis- 
tening to  the  chirp  of 
the  frogs  and  looking 
at  the  fireflies  as  they 
hung  their  gleaming 
lamps  here  and  there  in  the  tall  grass.  Then 
he  crept  round  to  the  side  door,  to  implore 
the  kind  offices  of  the  mediator  before  he 
entered  the  presence  of  the  judge,  whom  he 
assumed  to  be  sitting  in  awful  state  some- 
where in  the  front  part  of  the  house.     He 


Timothy  .goes  to  Squire  Beau's 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  85 

lifted  the  latch  noiselessly  and  entered.  Oh 
horror  !  Miss  Avilda  herself  was  sprinkling 
clothes  at  the  great  table  on  one  side  of  the 
room. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence. 

"He  wouldn't  have  me,"  said  Timothy 
simply,  "he  said  I  was  n't  big  enough  to  be 
any  good.  I  offered  him  Gay,  too,  but  he 
did  n't  want  her  either,  and  if  you  please,  I 
would  rather  sleep  on  the  sofa  so  as  not  to 
be  any  more  trouble." 

"  You  won't  do  any  such  thing,"  responded 
Miss  Vilda  briskly.  "You  've  got  a  royal 
welcome  this  time,  sure,  and  I  guess  you  can 
earn  your  lodging  fast  enough.  You  hear 
that  ?"  and  she  opened  the  door  that  led  into 
the  upper  part  of  the  house. 

A  piercing  shriek  floated  down  into  the 
kitchen,  and  another  on  the  heels  of  that, 
and  then  another.  Every  drop  of  blood  in 
Timothy's  spare  body  rushed  to  his  pale  face. 
"  Is  she  being  whipped  ?  "  he  whispered,  with 
set  lips. 

"  No ;  she  needs  it  bad  enough,  but  we 
ain't  savages.  She 's  only  got  the  pretty 
temper  that  matches  her  hair,  just  as  you 


86  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

said.  I  guess  we  have  n't  been  behavin'  to 
suit  her." 

"  Can  I  go  up  ?  She  '11  stop  in  a  minute 
when  she  sees  me.  She  never  went  to  bed 
without  me  before,  and  truly,  truly,  she  is  n't 
a  cross  baby  !  " 

"Come  right  along  and  welcome  ;  just  so 
long  as  she  has  to  stay  you  're  invited  to 
visit  with  her.  Land  sakes  !  the  neighbors 
will  think  we're  killin'  pigs!"  and  Miss 
Vilda  started  upstairs  to  show  Timothy  the 
way. 

Gay  was  sitting  up  in  bed  and  the  faithful 
Samantha  Ann  was  seated  beside  her  with 
a  lapful  of  bribes, — apples,  seed-cakes,  an 
illustrated  Bible,  a  thermometer,  an  ear  of 
red  corn,  and  a  large  stuffed  green  bird,  the 
glory  of  the  "keeping  room"  mantelpiece. 

The  bribes  were  all  useless.  A  whole 
aviary  of  highly  colored  songsters  would  not 
have  assuaged  Gay's  woe  at  that  moment. 
Every  effort  at  conciliation  was  met  with 
the  one  plaint :  "  I  want  my  Timfy  !  I  want 
my  Timfy ! " 

At  the  first  sight  of  the  beloved  form,  Gay 
flung  the  sacred  bird  into  the  furthest  corner 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  87 

of  the  room,  and  burst  into  a  wild  sob  of  de- 
light as  she  threw  herself  into  Timothy's 
loving  arms. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  peace  had  descended 
on  the  troubled  homestead,  and  Samantha 
went  into  the  sitting-room  and  threw  herself 
into  the  depths  of  the  high-backed  rocker. 
"Land  o'  liberty!  perhaps  I  ain't  het  up!" 
she  ejaculated,  as  she  wiped  her  brow  and 
fanned  herself  vigorously  with  her  apron. 
"  I  tell  you  what,  at  five  o'clock  I  was  dread- 
ful sorry  I  had  n't  took  Dave  Milliken,  but 
now  I  'm  plaguey  glad  I  did  n't !  Still"  (and 
here  she  tried  to  smooth  the  green  bird's 
ruffled  plumage  and  restore  him  to  his  perch 
under  the  revered  glass  case),  "  still,  children 
will  be  children." 

"  Some  of  'em  's  considerable  more  like 
wild  cats,"  said  Miss  Avilda  briefly. 

"You  just  go  upstairs  now,  and  see  if  you 
find  anything  that  looks  like  wild  cats ; 
but 't  any  rate,  wild  cats  or  tame  cats,  we 
would  n't  dass  turn  'em  ou'doors  this  time  o' 
night  for  fear  of  flyin'  in  the  face  of  Provi- 
dence. If  it  's  a  stint  He  's  set  us,  I  don't 
see  but  we  've  grot  to  work  it  out  somehow," 


83  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"I  'd  rather  have  some  other  stint." 

"To  be  sure!"  retorted  Samantha  vigor- 
ously. "  I  never  see  anybody  yet  that  did  n't 
want  to  pick  out  her  own  stint ;  but  mebbe 
if  we  got  just  the  one  we  wanted  it  would  n't 
be  no  stint  !  —  Land  o'  liberty,  what 's  that !  " 

There  was  a  crash  of  falling  tin  pans, 
and  Samantha  flew  to  investigate  the  cause. 
About  ten  minutes  later  she  returned,  more 
heated  than  ever,  and  threw  herself  for  the 
second  time  into  the  high-backed  rocker. 

"That  dog's  been  givin'  me  a  chase,  I  can 
tell  you  !  He  clawed  and  scratched  so  in  the 
shed  that  I  put  him  in  the  wood-house ;  then 
he  went  and  dim'  up  on  that  carpenter's 
bench,  and  pitched  out  that  little  winder  at 
the  top,  and  fell  on  to  the  milk-pan  shelf  and 
scattered  every  last  one  of  'em,  and  then 
upsot  all  my  cans  of  termatter  plants.  But 
I  could  n't  find  him,  high  nor  low.  All  at 
once  I  see  by  the  dirt  on  the  floor  that  he  'd 
squirmed  himself  through  the  skeeter-nettin' 
door  int'  the  house,  and  then  I  surmised 
where  he  was.  Sure  enough,  I  crep'  up- 
stairs and  there  he  was,  layin'  between  the 
two  children  as  snug  as  you  please.     He  was 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  89 

snorin'  like  a  pirate  when  I  found  him,  but 
when  I  stood  over  the  bed  with  a  candle  I 
could  see  't  his  wicked  little  eyes  was  wide 
open,  and  he  was  jest  makin'  b'lieve  sleep  in 
hopes  I  'd  leave  him  where  he  was.  Well,  I 
yanked  him  out  quicker  'n  scat,  'n'  locked 
him  in  the  old  chicken  house,  so  I  guess 
he  '11  stay  out,  now.  For  folks  that  claim  to 
be  no  blood  relation,  I  declare  him  'n'  the 
boy  'n'  the  baby  beats  anything  I  ever  come 
across  for  bein'  fond  of  one  'nother!  " 

There  were  dreams  at  the  White  Farm 
that  night.  Timothy  went  to  sleep  with  a 
prayer  on  his  lips  ;  a  prayer  that  God  would 
excuse  him  for  speaking  of  Martha's  door- 
plate,  and  a  most  imploring  postscript  to 
the  effect  that  God  would  please  make  Miss 
Vilda  into  a  mother  for  Gay ;  thinking  as  he 
floated  off  into  the  land  of  Nod,  "  It  '11  be 
awful  hard  work,  but  I  don't  suppose  He 
cares  how  hard  't  is  !  " 

Lady  Gay  dreamed  of  driving  beautiful 
white  horses  beside  sparkling  waters  .  .  . 
and  through  flowery  meadows.  .  .  .  And 
great  green  birds  perched  on  all  the  trees 
and  flew  towards  her  as  if  to  peck  the  cher- 


9o  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

ries  of  her  lips  .  .  .  but  when  she  tried  to 
beat  them  off  they  all  turned  into  Timothys 
and  she  hugged  them  close  to  her  heart.  .  .  . 
Rags'  visions  were  gloomy,  for  he  knew 
not  whether  the  Lady  with  the  Firm  Hand 
would  free  him  from  his  prison  in  the  morn- 
ing, or  whether  he  was  there  for  all  time. 
.  .  .  But  there  were  intervals  of  bliss  when 
his  fancies  took  a  brighter  turn  .  .  .  when 
Hope  smiled  .  .  .  and  he  bit  the  white  cat's 

tail  .  .  .  and  chased 
the  infant  turkeys 
.  .  .  and  found 
sweet,  juicy,  deli- 
cious bones  in  un- 
expected places 
.  .  .  and  even  in- 
haled, in  exquisite 
anticipation,  the 
fragrance  of  one 
particularly  succulent  bone  that  he  had 
hidden  under  Miss  Vilda's  bed. 

Sleep  carried  Samantha  so  many  years 
back  into  the  past  that  she  heard  the  blithe 
din  of  carpenters  hammering  and  sawing  on 
a  little  house  that  was  to  be  hers,  his,  theirs. 


Rags'1  Dream 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  91 

.  .  .  And  as  she  watched  them,  with  all 
sorts  of  maidenly  hopes  about  the  home 
that  was  to  be  .  .  .  some  one  stole  up  be- 
hind and  caught  her  at  it,  and  she  ran  away 
blushing  .  .  .  and  some  one  followed  her 
.  .  .  and  they  watched  the  carpenters  to- 
gether. .  .  .  Somebody  else  lived  in  the  lit- 
tle house  now,  and  Samantha  never  blushed 
any  more,  but  that  part  was  mercifully  hid- 
den in  the  dream.  ...   It  is,  sometimes. 

Miss  Vilda's  slumber  was  troubled.  She 
seemed  to  be  walking  through  peaceful 
meadows,  brown  with  autumn,  when  all  at 
once  there  rose  in  the  path  steep  hills  and 
rocky  mountains.  .  .  .  She  felt  too  tired  and 
too  old  to  climb,  but  there  was  nothing  else 
to  be  done.  .  .  .  And  just  as  she  began  the 
toilsome  ascent,  a  little  child  appeared,  and 
catching  her  helplessly  by  the  skirts  im- 
plored to  be  taken  with  her.  .  .  .  And  she 
refused  and  went  on  alone  .  .  .  but,  miracle 
of  miracles,  when  she  reached  the  crest  of 
the  first  hill  the  child  was  there  before  her, 
still  beseeching  to  be  carried.  .  .  .  But  again 
she  refused,  and  again  she  wearily  climbed 
the  heights  alone,  always  meeting  the  child 


92  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

when  she  reached  their  summits,  and  always 
enacting  the  same  scene.  ...  At  last  she 
cried  in  despair,  "Ask  me  no  more,  for  I 
have  not  strength  enough  even  for  my  own 
needs  ! "  .  .  .  And  the  child  said,  "  I  will 
help  you ; "  and  straightway  crept  into  her 
arms  and  nestled  there  as  one  who  would  not 
be  denied  .  .  .  and  she  took  up  her  burden 
and  walked.  .  .  .  And  as  she  climbed,  the 
weight  grew  lighter  and  lighter,  till  at  length 
the  clinging  arms  seemed  to  give  her  peace 
and  strength  .  .  .  and  when  she  neared  the 
crest  of  the  highest  mountain  she  felt  new 
life  throbbing  in  her  veins  and  new  hopes 
stirring  in  her  heart,  and  she  remembered 
no  more  the  pain  and  weariness  of  her  jour- 
ney. .  .  .  And  suddenly  an  angel  appeared 
to  her  and  tracing  the  letters  of  a  word  upon 
her  forehead,  took  the  child  from  her  arms 
and  disappeared.  .  .  .  And  the  angel  had  the 
lovely  smile  and  sad  eyes  of  her  dead  sister, 
Martha  .  .  .  and  the  word  she  traced  on  Miss 
Vilda's  forehead  was  "  Inasmuch  "  ! 


SCENE   VII 

THE    OLD    HOMESTEAD 


Mistress  and  Maid  find  to  their  Amazement  that  a 
Child,  more  than  all  other  Gifts,  brings  Hope  with 
it  arid  forward  looking  Thoughts 


T  was  called  the  White 
Farm,  not  because  white 
was  an  unusual  color  in 
Pleasant  River.  Two 
houses  out  of  every  twenty  in 
the  village  were  made  of  brick 
and  the  other  eighteen  were  painted 
white,  for  it  had  not  then  entered  the 
casual  mind  that  any  other  course  was  de- 
sirable or  possible.  Occasionally  a  man  of 
riotous  imagination  would  substitute  two 
shades  of  buff,  or  make  the  back  of  his  barn 
red,  but  the  spirit  of  invention  stopped  there 
and  the  majority  of  sane  people  went  on 
painting  white.  Miss  Avilda  Cummins,  how- 
ever, was  blessed  with  a  larger  income  than 
most  of  the  inhabitants  of  Pleasant  River, 
and  all  her  buildings,  the  great  house,  the 
sheds,  the  carriage  and  dairy  houses,  the 
fences  and  the  barn,  were  always  kept  in  a 


96  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

state  of  dazzling  purity  ;  "as  if,"  the  neigh- 
bors declared,  "  S'manthy  Ann  Ripley  went 
over  'em  every  morning  with  a  dust-cloth." 

It  was  merely  an  accident  that  the  car- 
riage and  work  horses  chanced  to  be  white, 
and  that  the  original  white  cats  of  the  family 
kept  on  having  white  kittens  to  decorate  the 
front  doorsteps.  It  was  not  accident,  how- 
ever, but  design,  that  caused  Jabe  Slocum 
to  scour  the  country  for  a  good  white  cow 
and  persuade  Miss  Cummins  to  swap  off  the 
old  red  one,  so  that  the  "  critters "  in  the 
barn  should  match  the  rest  of  the  establish- 
ment. 

Miss  Avilda  had  been  born  at  the  White 
Farm  ;  her  father  and  mother  had  been  taken 
from  there  to  the  old  country  churchyard, 
and  "Martha,  aged  17,"  poor,  pretty,  willful 
Martha,  the  greatest  pride  and  greatest  sor- 
row of  the  family,  was  lying  under  the  apple- 
trees  in  the  garden. 

Here  also  the  little  Samantha  Ann  Ripley 
had  come  as  a  child  years  ago,  to  be  play- 
mate, nurse,  and  companion  to  Martha,  and 
here  she  had  stayed  ever  since,  as  friend, 
adviser,  and  "company-keeper  "  to  the  lonely 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  97 

Miss  Cummins.  Nobody  in  Pleasant  River 
would  have  dared  to  think  of  her  as  any- 
body's "hired  help,"  though  she  did  receive 
bed  and  board,  and  a  certain  sum  yearly  for 
her  services ;  for  she  lived  with  Miss  Cum- 
mins on  equal  terms,  as  was  the  custom  in 
the  good  old  New  England  villages,  doing 
the  lion's  share  of  the  work,  and  marking 
her  sense  of  the  situation  by  washing  the 
dishes  while  Miss  Avilda  wiped  them,  and 
by  never  suffering  her  to  feed  the  pig  or  go 
down  cellar. 

Theirs  had  been  a  dull  sort  of  life,  in 
which  little  had  happened  to  make  them 
grow  into  sympathy  with  the  outside  world. 
All  the  sweetness  of  Miss  Avilda's  nature 
had  turned  to  bitterness  and  gall  after  Mar- 
tha's disgrace,  sad  home-coming,  and  death. 
There  had  been  much  to  forgive,  and  she 
had  not  had  the  grace  nor  the  strength  to 
forgive  it  until  it  was  too  late.  The  mystery 
of  death  had  unsealed  her  eyes,  and  there 
had  been  a  moment  when  the  sad  and  bitter 
woman  might  have  been  drawn  closer  to  the 
great  Father-heart,  there  to  feel  the  throb  of 
a  Divine  compassion  that  would  have  sweet- 


98  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

ened  the  trial  and  made  the  burden  lighter. 
The  minister  of  the  parish  proved  a  sorry 
comforter  and  adviser  in  these  hours  of  trial. 
The  Reverend  Joshua  Beckwith,  whose  view 
of  God's  universe  was  about  as  broad  as  if  he 
had  lived  on  the  inside  of  his  own  pork-bar- 
rel, had  cherished  certain  strong  and  unre- 
lenting opinions  concerning  Martha's  final 
destination  which  were  not  shared  by  Miss 
Cummins.  There  was  a  long  and  heated 
argument  in  the  parlor,  in  the  course  of 
which  the  Family  Bible,  the  Concordance, 
and  Barnes's  Notes  were  liberally  drawn 
upon  by  the  parson.  At  its  close  Miss 
Avilda  announced  her  intention  of  having 
nothing  more  to  do  with  church  members. 
Martha,  therefore,  was  not  laid  with  the 
elect,  but  was  put  to  rest  in  the  orchard, 
under  the  kindly,  untheological  shade  of  the 
apple-trees,  that  scattered  their  tinted  blos- 
soms over  her  little  white  headstone,  shed 
their  fragrance  about  her  quiet  grave,  and 
dropped  their  ruddy  fruit  in  the  high  grass 
that  covered  it,  just  as  tenderly  and  respect- 
fully as  if  they  had  been  regulation  willows. 
The  Reverend  Joshua  thus  succeeded  in  dry- 


TIMOTHY'S  QUEST 

ingnpthe  springs 
of  human  sympa- 
thy in  Miss  Avil- 
da's  heart  when 
most  she  needed 


99 


comfort  and  gentle  teaching ;  and,  dis- 
trusting God  for  the  moment,  as  well 
as  his  inexorable  priest,  she  left  her 
place  in  the  old  meeting-house  where 
she  had  "worshiped"  ever  since  she 
had  acquired  adhesiveness  enough  to 
stick  to  a  pew,  and  was  not  seen  there  again 
for  many  years.  The  Reverend  Joshua  had 
died,  as  all  men  must  and  as  most  men 
should,  and  a  mild  voiced  successor  reigned 
in  his  place,  so  the  Cummins  pew  was  occu- 
pied once  more. 

Samantha  Ann  Ripley  had  had  her  heart 
history  too, — one  of  a  different  kind.  She 
had  "kept  company"  with  David  Milliken 
for  a  little  matter  of  twenty  years,  off  and 
on,  and  Miss  Avilda  had  expected  at  various 
times  to  lose  her  friend  and  helpmate ;  but 
fear  of  this  calamity  had  at  length  been  quite 
put  to  rest  by  the  fourth  and  final  rupture  of 
the  bond,  five  years  before. 


ioo  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

There  had  always  been  a  family  feud  be- 
tween the  Ripleys  and  the  Millikens ;  so 
when  the  young  people  took  it  into  their 
heads  to  fall  in  love  with  each  other  in  spite 
of  precedent  and  prejudice,  they  found  that 
the  course  of  true  love  ran  in  anything  but 
a  true  channel.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  sort  of  vil- 
lage Montague  and  Capulet  affair  ;  but  David 
and  Samantha  were  no  Romeo  and  Juliet. 
The  climate  and  general  conditions  of  life  at 
Pleasant  River  were  not  favorable  to  the  de- 
velopment of  such  exotics.  The  old  people 
interposed  barriers  between  the  young  ones 
as  long  as  they  lived ;  and  when  they  died, 
Dave  Milliken's  spirit  was  broken,  and  he 
began  to  annoy  the  valiant  Samantha  by 
what  she  called  his  "meechin"'  ways.  In 
one  of  his  moments  of  weakness  he  took  a 
widowed  sister  to  live  with  him,  a  certain 
Mrs.  Pettigrove,  of  Edgewood,  who  inherited 
the  Milliken  objection  to  Ripleys,  and  who 
widened  the  breach  and  brought  Samantha  to 
the  point  of  final  and  decisive  rupture.  The 
last  straw  was  the  statement,  sown  broadcast 
by  Mrs.  Pettigrove,  "that  Samanthy  Ann 
Ripley's  father  never  would  'a'  died  if  he  'd 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  101 

ever  had  any  doctorin' ;  but 't  was  the  gospel 
truth  that  they  never  had  nobody  to  'tend  him 
but  a  hom'pathy  man  from  Scratch  Corner, 
who,  of  course,  bein'  a  hom'path,  did  n't  know 
no  more  about  doctorin'  'n  Cooper's  cow." 

Samantha  told  David  after  this  "she  did 
n't  want  to  hear  him  open  his  mouth  again, 
nor  none  of  his  folks ;  she  was  through  with 
the  whole  lot  of  'em  forever  and  ever,  'n' 
she  wished  to  the  Lord  she  'd  had  sense 
enough  to  put  her  foot  down  fifteen  years 
ago,  'n'  she  hoped  he  'd  enjoy  bein'  trod  un- 
derfoot for  the  rest  of  his  natural  life,  'n'  she 
would  n't  speak  to  him  again  if  she  met  him 
in  her  porridge  dish."  She  then  slammed 
the  door  and  went  upstairs  to  cry  as  if  she 
were  sixteen,  as  she  watched  him  out  of 
sight.  Poor  Dave  Milliken  !  just  sweet  and 
earnest  and  strong  enough  to  suffer  at  being 
worsted  by  circumstances,  but  never  quite 
strong  enough  to  conquer  them. 

It  was  to  this  household  that  Timothy  had 
brought  his  child  for  adoption. 

When  Miss  Avilda  opened  her  eyes  the 
morning   after   the    arrival  of  the  children, 


102  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

she  tried  to  remember  whether  anything  had 
happened  to  give  her  such  a  strange  feeling 
of  altered  conditions.  It  was  Saturday,  bak- 
ing day,  —  that  couldn't  be  it, — and  she 
gazed  at  the  little  dimity-curtained  window 
and  at  the  picture  of  the  Death-bed  of  Cal- 
vin, and  wondered  what  was  the  matter. 

Just  then  a  child's  laugh,  bright,  merry, 
tuneful,  infectious,  rang  out  from  some  dis- 
tant room,  and  it  all  came  back  to  her  as  Sa- 
mantha  Ann  opened  the  door  and  peered  in. 

"I've  got  breakfast  'bout  ready,"  she 
said;  "but  I  wish,  soon 's  you're  dressed, 
you  'd  step  down  'n'  see  to  it,  'n'  let  me  wash 
the  baby.  I  guess  water  was  skerse  where 
she  come  from  !  " 

"  They  're  awake,  are  they  ?  " 

"  Awake  ?  Land  o'  liberty  !  As  soon  as 
't  was  light,  and  before  the  boy  had  opened 
his  eyes,  Gay  was  up  'n'  poundin'  on  all  the 
doors,  'n'  hollerin'  '  S'manfy '  (beats  all  how 
she  got  holt  o'  my  name  so  quick !),  so  't  I 
thought  sure  she  'd  disturb  your  sleep.  See 
here,  Vildy,  we  want  those  children  should 
look  respectable  the  few  days  they  're  here. 
I  don't  see  how  we  can  rig  out  the  boy,  but 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  103 

there  's  those  old  things  of  Marthy's  in  the 
attic  ;  seems  like  it  might  be  a  blessin'  on 
'em  if  we  used  'em  this  way." 

"  I  thought  of  it  myself  in  the  night,"  an- 
swered Vilda  briefly.  "  You  '11  find  the  key 
of  the  trunk  in  the  light-stand  drawer.  You 
see  to  the  children,  and  I  '11  get  breakfast  on 
the  table.     Has  Jabe  come  ?  " 

"  No ;  he  sent  a  boy  to  milk,  'n'  said 
he  'd  be  right  along.  You  know  what  that 
means  !  " 

Miss  Vilda  moved  about  the  immaculate 
kitchen,  frying  potatoes  and  making  tea,  set- 
ting on  extra  portions  of  bread  and  dough- 
nuts and  a  huge  pitcher  of  milk ;  while  va- 
rious noises,  strange  enough  in  that  quiet 
house,  floated  down  from  above. 

"This  is  dreadful  hard  on  Samanthy,"  she 
reflected.  "  I  don't  know  's  I  'd  ought  to 
have  put  it  on  her,  knowing  how  she  hates 
confusion  and  company,  and  all  that  ;  but 
she  seemed  to  think  we  'd  got  to  tough  it 
out  for  a  spell,  any  way ;  though  I  don't  ex- 
pect her  temper  '11  stand  the  strain  very 
long." 

The  fact  was,  Samantha  was  banging  doors 


104  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

and  slatting  tin  pails  about  furiously  to  keep 
up  an  ostentatious  show  of  ill  humor.  She 
tried  her  best  to  grunt  with  displeasure  when 
Gay,  seated  in  a  wash-tub,  crowed  and  beat 
the  water  with  her  dimpled  hands  so  that  it 
splashed  all  over  the  carpet ;  but  all  the  time 
there  was  such  a  joy  tugging  at  her  heart- 
strings as  they  had  not  felt  for  years. 

When  the  bath  was  over,  clean  petticoats 
and  ankle-ties  were  chosen  out  of  the  old 
leather  trunk,  and  finally  a  little  blue  and 
white  lawn  dress.  It  was  too  long  in  the 
skirt,  and  pending  the  moment  when  Saman- 
tha  should  "  take  a  tack  in  it,"  it  anticipated 
the  present  fashion,  and  made  Lady  Gay 
look  more  like  a  disguised  princess  than  ever. 
The  gown  was  low-necked  and  short-sleeved, 
in  the  old  style,  and  Samantha  was  in  de- 
spair till  she  found  some  little  embroidered 
muslin  capes  and  full  undersleeves,  with 
which  she  covered  Gay's  pink  neck  and  arms. 
These  things  of  beauty  so  wrought  upon  the 
child's  excitable  nature  that  she  could  hardly 
keep  still  long  enough  to  have  her  hair 
curled ;  and  Samantha,  as  the  shining  rings 
dropped  off  her  horny  forefinger,  was  wrest- 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  105 

ling  with  the  Evil  One  in  the  shape  of  a  little 
box  of  jewelry  that  she  had  found  with  the 
clothing.  She  knew  that  the  wish  was  a 
vicious  one  and  that  such  gewgaws  were  out 
of  place  on  a  little  pauper  just  taken  in  for 
the  night ;  but  her  fingers  trembled  with  de- 
sire to  fasten  the  lit- 
tle gold  ears  of  corn 
on  the  shoulders, 
or  tie  the  strings  of 
coral  beads  around 
the  child's  pretty 
throat. 

When  the  toilet 
was  completed,  and 
Samantha  was  emp- 
tying the  tub,  Gay 
climbed  on  the  bureau  and  imprinted  sloppy 
kisses  of  sincere  admiration  on  the  radiant 
reflection  of  herself  in  the  little  looking- 
glass  ;  then,  getting  down  again,  she  seized 
her  heap  of  Minerva  Court  clothes  before 
the  astonished  Samantha  could  interpose, 
and  flung  them  out  of  the  second  story  win- 
dow, where  they  fell  on  the  top  of  the  lilac 
bushes. 


Gay's  Toilet 


106  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"  Me  does  n't  like  nasty  old  dress,"  she 
explained,  with  a  dazzling  smile  that  was  a 
justification  in  itself;  "me  likes  pretty  new 
dress  !  "  and  then,  with  one  hand  reaching 
up  to  the  door-knob  and  the  other  throwing 
disarming  kisses  to  Samantha, —  "By-by! 
Lady  Gay  go  circus  now !  S'manfy  come 
take  Lady  Gay  to  circus  ! " 

There  was  no  time  for  discipline  then,  and 
she  was  borne  to  the  breakfast-table,  where 
Timothy  was  already  making  acquaintance 
with  Miss  Vilda. 

Samantha  entered,  and  Vilda,  glancing  at 
her  nervously,  perceived  with  relief  that  she 
was  "taking  things  easy."  Ah!  but  it  was 
lucky  for  poor  David  Milliken  that  he  could 
not  see  her  at  that  moment.  Her  whole 
face  had  relaxed;  her  mouth  was  no  longer 
a  thin,  hard  line,  but  had  a  certain  curve  and 
fullness,  borrowed  perhaps  from  the  warmth 
of  innocent  baby  kisses.  Embarrassment 
and  stifled  joy  had  brought  a  rosier  color  to 
her  cheek  ;  Gay's  vandal  hand  had  ruffled 
the  smoothness  of  her  sandy  locks,  so  that  a 
few  stray  hairs  were  absolutely  curling  with 
amazement  that  they  had  escaped  from  their 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  107 

sleek  bondage ;  in  a  word,  Samantha  Ann 
Ripley  was  lovely  and  lovable  ! 

Timothy  had  no  eyes  for  any  one  save  his 
beloved  Gay,  at  whom  he  gazed  with  unspeak- 
able admiration,  thinking  it  impossible  that 
any  human  being  with  a  single  eye  in  his 
head  could  refuse  to  take  such  an  angel 
when  it  was  in  the  market. 

Gay,  not  being  used  to  a  regular  morning 
toilet,  had  fought  against  it  valiantly  at  first ; 
but  the  tonic  of  the  bath  itself  and  the  ex- 
ercise of  war  had  brought  the  color  to  her 
cheeks  and  the  brightness  to  her  eyes.  She 
had  forgiven  Samantha,  she  was  ready  to  be 
on  good  terms  with  Miss  Vilda,  she  was  at 
peace  with  all  the  world.  That  she  was  eat- 
ing the  bread  of  dependence  did  not  trouble 
her  in  the  least !  No  royal  visitor,  conveying 
honor  by  her  mere  presence,  could  have  car- 
ried off  a  delicate  situation  with  more  distin- 
guished grace  and  ease.  She  was  perched 
on  a  Webster's  Unabridged  Dictionary,  and 
immediately  began  blowing  bubbles  in  her 
mug  of  milk  in  the  most  reprehensible  fash- 
ion ;  glancing  up  after  each  naughty  effort 
with  an  irrepressible  gurgle  of  laughter,  in 


ioS  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

which  she  looked  so  bewitching,  even  with  a 
milky  crescent  over  her  red  mouth,  that  she 
would  have  melted  the  heart  of  the  most 
predestinate  old  misogynist  in  Christendom. 

Timothy  was  not  so  entirely  at  his  ease. 
His  eyes  had  looked  into  life  only  a  few 
more  summers,  but  their  "  radiant  morning 
visions  "  had  been  dispelled  ;  experience  had 
tempered  joy.  Gay,  however,  had  not  ar- 
rived at  an  age  where  people's  motives  can 
be  suspected  for  an  instant.  If  there  had 
been  any  possible  plummet  with  which  to 
sound  the  depths  of  her  unconscious  philoso- 
phy, she  apparently  looked  upon  herself  as  a 
guest  out  of  heaven,  flung  down  upon  this 
hospitable  planet  with  the  single  responsi- 
bility of  enjoying  its  treasures. 

O  happy  heart  of  childhood  !  Your  sim- 
ple creed  is  rich  in  faith,  and  trust,  and  hope. 
You  have  not  learned  that  the  children  of  a 
common  Father  can  do  aught  but  love  and 
help  each  other. 


■■^ 


SCENE   VIII 

THE    OLD    GARDEN 

Jabe  and  Samantha   exchange  Hostilities,  and  the 

Former  says  a  Good  Word  for  the  Little 

Wanderers 


OD  Almighty  first 
planted  a  garden, 
and  it  is  indeed  the 
purest  of  all  human 
pleasures,"  said  Lord  Ba- 
con ;  and  Miss  Vilda  would 
have  agreed  with  him.  Her 
garden  was  not  simply  the 
purest  of  all  her  pleasures,  it 
was  her  only  one  ;  the  love  that  other  people 
gave  to  family,  friends,  or  kindred  she  lav- 
ished on  her  posies. 

It  was  a  dear,  old-fashioned,  odorous  gar- 
den, where  Dame  Nature  had  never  been 
forced,  but  only  assisted,  to  do  her  duty. 
Miss  Vilda  sowed  her  seeds  in  the  spring- 
time wherever  there  chanced  to  be  room, 
and  they  came  up  and  flourished  and  went 
to  seed  just  as  they  liked,  these  being  the 
only  duties  required  of  them.      Two  splen- 


ii2  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

did  groups  of  fringed  "pinies,"  the  pride  of 
Miss  Avilda's  heart,  grew  just  inside  the 
gate,  and  hard  by  the  handsomest  dahlias  in 
the  village,  quilled  beauties  like  carved  ro- 
settes of  gold  and  coral  and  ivory.  There 
was  plenty  of  feathery  "  sparrowgrass,"  so 
handy  to  fill  the  black  and  yawning  chasms 
of  summer  fireplaces  and  furnish  green  for 
"boquets."  There  was  a  stray  peach  or 
greengage  tree  here  and  there,  and  if  a  plain, 
well-meaning  carrot  chanced  to  lift  its  leaves 
among  the  poppies,  why,  they  were  all  the 
children  of  the  same  mother,  and  Miss  Vilda 
was  not  the  woman  to  root  out  the  invader 
and  fling  it  into  the  ditch.  There  was  a  bed 
of  yellow  tomatoes,  where,  in  the  season,  a 
hundred  tiny  golden  balls  hung  among  the 
green  leaves ;  and  just  beside  them,  in 
friendly  equality,  a  tangle  of  pink  sweet- 
williams,  fragrant  phlox,  delicate  bride' s-tears, 
canterbury  bells  blue  as  the  June  sky,  none- 
so-pretties,  gay  cockscombs,  and  flaunting 
marigolds,  which  would  insist  on  coming  up 
all  together,  summer  after  summer,  regard- 
less of  color  harmonies.  Last,  but  not  least, 
there  was  a  patch  of  sweet  peas, 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  113 

"  on  tiptoe  for  a  flight, 
With  wings  of  gentle  flush  o'er  delicate  white." 

These  dispensed  their  sweet  odors  so  gener- 
ously that  it  was  a  favorite  diversion  among 
the  village  children  to  stand  in  rows  outside 
the  fence,  and,  elevating  their  bucolic  noses, 
simultaneously  "sniff  Miss  Cummins'  peas." 
The  garden  was  large  enough  to  have  little 
hills  and  dales  of  its  own,  and  its  banks 
sloped  gently  down  to  the  river.  There  was 
a  gnarled  apple-tree  hidden  by  a  luxuriant 
wild  grapevine,  a  fit  bower  for  a  "  lov'd  Celia  " 
or  a  "fair  Rosamond."  There  was  a  spring, 
whose  crystal  waters  were  "  cabined,  cribbed, 
confined,"  within  a  barrel  sunk  in  the  earth  ; 
a  brook  singing  its  way  among  the  alder 
bushes  and  dripping  here  and  there  into 
pools,  over  which  the  blue  harebells  leaned 
to  see  themselves.  There  was  also  a  sum- 
mer-house on  the  brink  of  the  hill ;  a  weather- 
stained  affair,  with  a  hundred  names  carved 
on  its  venerable  lattices,  —  names  of  youths 
and  maidens  who  had  stood  there  in  the 
moonlight  and  plighted  rustic  vows. 

If  you  care  to  feel  a  warm  glow  in  the  re- 
gion of   your  heart,  imagine  little  Timothy 


ii4  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

Jessup  sent  to  play  in  that  garden,  —  sent 
to  play  for  almost  the  first  time  in  his  life ! 
Imagine  it,  I  ask,  for  there  are  some  things 
too  sweet  to  prick  with  a  pen-point.  The 
boy  stayed  there  fifteen  minutes,  and  running 
back  to  the  house  in  a  state  of  intoxicated 
delight  went  up  to  Samantha,  and  laying  an 
insistent  hand  on  hers,  said  excitedly,  "  Oh, 
Samanthy,  you  did  n't  tell  me  —  there  is 
shining  water  down  in  the  garden  ;  not  so 
big  as  the  ocean,  nor  so  still  as  the  harbor, 
but  a  kind  of  baby  river  running  along  by 
itself  with  the  sweetest  noise.  Please,  Miss 
Vilda,  may  I  take  Gay  to  see  it,  and  will  it 
hurt  it  if  I  wash  Rags  in  it  ? " 

"  Let  'em  all  go,"  suggested  Samantha ; 
"there  's  Jabe  dawdlin'  along  the  road,  and 
they  might  as  well  be  out  from  under  foot." 

"  Don't  be  too  hard  on  Jabe  this  morning, 
Samanthy,  —  he  's  been  to  see  the  Baptist 
minister  at  Edgewood ;  you  know  he's  going 
to  be  baptized  some  time  next  month." 

"  Well,  he  needs  it  !  But  land  sakes  ! 
you  could  n't  make  them  Slocums  pious  'f 
you  kep'  on  baptizin'  of  'em  till  the  crack  o' 
doom.       I  never  hearn  tell  of  one  o'  them 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  115 

long-legged  Slocums  gittin'  baptized  in  July. 
They  allers  take  'em  after  the  freshets  in 
the  spring  o'  the  year,  'n'  then  they  have  to 
be  tumble  careful  to  douse  'em  lengthways 
of  the  river.  Look  at  him,  will  ye  ?  I  b'lieve 
he  's  grown  sence  yesterday  !  If  he  'd  ever 
stood  stiff  on  his  feet  when  he  was  a  boy, 
he  needn't  'a'  been  so  everlastin'  tall ;  but  he 
was  forever  roostin'  on  fences  with  his  laigs 
danglin'  till  the  heft  of  his  feet  stretched  'em 
out,  —  it  could  n't  do  no  dif'rent.  I  ain't  got 
no  patience  with  him." 

"  Jabe  has  considerable  many  good  points," 
said  Miss  Cummins  loyally;  "he  's  faithful, 
—  you  always  know  where  to  find  him." 

"Good  reason  why,"  retorted  Samantha. 
"  You  always  know  where  to  find  him  'cause 
he  gen'ally  hain't  moved  sence  you  seen  him 
last.  Gittin'  religion  ain't  goin'  to  help  him 
much.  If  he  ever  hears  tell  'bout  the  gate 
of  heaven  bein'  open  't  the  last  day,  he  won't 
'a'  begun  to  begin  thinkin'  'bout  gittin'  in 
till  he  hears  the  door  shet  in  his  face ;  'n' 
then  he  '11  set  ri'  down  's  comf'table  's  if  he 
was  inside,  'n'  say,  'Wall,  better  luck  next 
time  :  slow  an'  sure  's  my  motto  ! '  —  Good- 
mornin',  Jabe  ;  had  your  dinner  ?  " 


n6  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"  I  ain't  even  heel  my  breakfast,"  responded 
Mr.  Slocum  easily. 

"  Blessed  are  the  lazy  folks,  for  they  always 
git  their  chores  done  for  'em,"  remarked 
Samantha  scathingly,  as  she  went  to  the 
buttery  for  provisions. 

"  Wall,"  said  Laigs,  looking  at  her  with  his 
most  irritating  smile,  as  he  sat  down  at  the 
kitchen  table,  "  I  don't  find  I  git  thru  any 
more  work  by  tumblin'  out  o'  bed  't  sun-up 
'n  I  dew  'f  I  lay  a  spell  'n'  let  the  univarse 
git  het  up  'n'  runnin'  a  leetle  mite.  '  Slow 
'n'  easy  goes  fur  in  a  day '  's  my  motto. 
Rhapseny,  she  used  to  say  she  should  think 
I  'd  be  ashamed  to  lay  abed  so  late.  'Wall, 
I  be,'  s'  I,  '  but  I  'd  ruther  be  ashamed  'n  git 
up  ! '  But  you  're  an  awful  good  cook,  Sa- 
manthy,  if  ye  air  allers  in  a  hurry,  'n'  if  yer 
hev  got  a  sharp  tongue  !  " 

"  The  less  you  say  'bout  my  tongue  the 
better  !  "  snapped  Samantha. 

"  Right  you  are,"  answered  Jabe  with  a 
good-natured  grin,  as  he  went  on  with  his 
breakfast.  He  had  a  huge  appetite,  another 
grievance  in  Samantha's  eyes.  She  always 
said  "  there  was  no  need  of  his  bein^  so  slab- 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  117 

sided  'n'  slack-twisted  'n'  knuckle-jointed, — 
that  he  eat  enough  in  all  conscience,  but  he 
would  n't  take  the  trouble  to  find  the  victuals 
that  would  fat  him  up  'n'  fill  out  his  bag  o' 
bones." 

Just  as  Samantha's  well-cooked  viands  be- 
gan to  disappear  in  Jabe's  capacious  mouth 
(he  always  ate  precise- 
ly as  if  he  were  stok- 
ing an  engine)  his  eye 
rested  upon  a  strange 
object  by  the  wood- 
box,  and  he  put  down 
his  knife  and  ejacu- 
lated, "  Well,  I  swan  ! 
Now  when  'n'  where  'd 
I  see  that  baby-shay  ? 
Why,  't  was  yesterday. 
Well,  I  vow,  them 
young  ones  was  comin' 
here,  was  they  ?  " 

"  What  young 

ones  ?  "  asked  Miss  Vilda,  exchanging  aston- 
tonished  glances  with  Samantha. 

"And  don't  begin  at  the  book  o'  Genesis 
'n'  go  clean  through  the  Bible,  's  you  gen- 


"  Well,  I  swan!" 


nS  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

'ally  do.  Start  right  in  on  Revelations, 
where  you  belong,"  put  in  Samantha ;  for  to 
see  a  man  unexpectedly  loaded  to  the  muzzle 
with  news,  and  too  lazy  to  fire  it  off,  was 
enough  to  try  the  patience  of  a  saint ;  and 
even  David  Milliken  would  hardly  have  ap- 
plied that  term  to  Samantha  Ann  Ripley. 

"  Give  a  feller  time  to  think,  will  yer  ? " 
expostulated  Jabe,  with  his  mouth  full  of  pie. 
"'Everything  comes  to  him  as  waits'  'd  be 
an  awful  good  motto  for  you !  Where  'd  I 
see  'em  ?  Why,  I  fetched  'em  as  fur  as  the 
cross-roads  myself." 

"Well,  I  never!"  "I  want  to  know!" 
cried  the  two  women  in  one  breath. 

"  I  picked  'em  up  out  on  the  road,  a  little 
piece  this  side  o'  the  station.  'T  was  at  the 
top  o'  Marm  Berry's  hill,  that  's  jest  where 
't  was.  The  boy  was  trudgin'  along  draggin' 
the  baby  'n'  the  basket,  'n'  I  thought  I  'd 
give  him  a  lift,  so  s'  I,  '  Goin'  t'  the  Swamp 
or  t'  the  Falls?'  s'  I.  'To  the  Falls,'  s'  'e. 
'Git  in,'  s'  I,  ' 'n'  I  '11  give  yer  a  ride,  'f  y' 
ain't  in  no  hurry,'  s'  I.  So  in  he  got,  'n'  the 
baby  tew.  When  I  got  putty  near  home,  I 
happened  ter  think  I  'd  oughter  gone  roun' 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  119 

by  the  tan'ry  V  picked  up  the  Widcler  Foss, 
'.n'  so  s'  I,  'I  ain't  goin'  no  nearer  to  the 
Falls ;  but  I  guess  your  laigs  is  good  for  the 
balance  o'  the  way,  ain't  they  ? '  s'  I.  'I 
guess  they  be  ! '  s'  'e.  Then  he  thanked  me 
's  perlite  's  Deacon  Sawyer's  first  wife,  'n' 
I  left  him  'n'  his  folks  in  the  road  where  I 
found  'em." 

"Did  n't  you  ask  where  he  belonged  nor 
where  he  was  bound  ?  " 

"  'T  ain't  my  way  to  waste  good  breath 
askin'  questions  't  ain't  none  o'  my  bis'ness," 
replied  Mr.  Slocum. 

"You  're  right,  it  ain't,"  responded  Sa- 
mantha,  as  she  slammed  the  milk-pans  in 
the  sink ;  "  'n'  it  's  my  hope  that  some  time 
when  you  get  good  and  ready  to  ask  some- 
body something  they  '11  be  in  too  much  of  a 
hurry  to  answer  you  !  " 

"  Be  they  any  of  your  folks,  Miss  Vildy  ?  " 
asked  Jabe,  grinning  with  delight  at  Saman- 
tha's  ill  humor. 

"  No,"  she  answered  briefly. 

"What  yer  cal'latin'  ter  do  with  'em  ?" 

"  I  have  n't  decided  yet.  The  boy  says 
they  have  n't  got  any  folks  nor  any  home ; 


120  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

and  I  suppose  it  's  our  duty  to  find  a  place 
for  'em.  I  don't  see  but  we  've  got  to  go  to 
the  expense  of  takin'  'em  back  to  the  city 
and  puttin'  'em  in  some  asylum." 

"  How  'd  they  happen  to  come  here? " 

"They  ran  away  from  the  city  yesterday, 
and  they  liked  the  looks  of  this  place  ;  that 's 
all  the  satisfaction  we  can  get  out  of  'em,  and 
I  dare  say  it 's  a  pack  of  lies." 

"That  boy  would  n't  tell  a  lie  no  more  'n 
a  seraphim  !  "  said  Samantha  tersely. 

"You  can't  judge  folks  by  appearances," 
answered  Vilda.  "But  anyhow,  don't  talk 
to  the  neighbors,  Jabe ;  and  if  you  have  n't 
got  anything  special  on  hand  to-day,  I  wish 
you  'd  patch  the  roof  of  the  summer-house 
and  dig  us  a  mess  of  beet  greens.  Keep  the 
children  with  you,  and  see  what  you  make 
of  'em  ;  they're  playin'  in  the  garden  now." 

"All  right.  I  '11  size  'em  up  the  best  I 
ken.  Mebbe  it  '11  hender  me  in  my  work 
some,  but  time  was  made  for  slaves  as  the 
molasses  said  when  they  told  it  to  hurry  up 
in  winter  time." 

Two  hours  later,  Miss  Vilda  looked  from 
the  kitchen  window  and  saw  Jabez  Slocum 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  121 

coming  across  the  road  from  the  garden. 
Timothy  trudged  beside  him,  carrying  the 
basket  of  greens  in  one  hand,  the  other 
locked  in  Jabe's  huge  paw,  his  eyes  up- 
turned and  shining  with  pleasure,  his  lips 
moving  as  if  he  were  chatter- 
ing like  a  magpie.  Lady  Gay 
was  just  where  you  might  have 
expected  to  find  her,  mounted 
on  the  towering  height  of 
Jabe's  shoulder,  one  tiny  hand 
grasping  his  weather-beaten 
straw  hat,  while  with  the  other 
she  whisked  her  willing  steed 
with  an  alder  switch  which  had 
evidently  been  cut  for  that  pur- 
pose by  the  victim  himself. 

"  That 's  the  way  he  's  sizin' 
of  'em   up,"    said    Samantha, 
leaning  over  Vilda's  shoulder 
with  a  smile.     "  I  '11  bet  they  've  sized  him 
up  enough  sight  better  'n  he  has  them  !  " 

Jabe  left  the  children  outside,  and  came 
in  with  the  basket.  Putting  his  hat  in  the 
wood-box  and  hitching  up  his  trousers  im- 
pressively, he  sat  down  on  the  settle. 


y 

Her  Willing  Steed 


122  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"  Them  ain't  no  children  to  be  wanderin' 
about  the  earth  afoot  'n'  alone,  '  same  's  Hitty 
went  to  the  beach  ; '  nor  they  ain't  any  com- 
mon truck  ter  be  put  inter  'sylums  'n'  poor- 
farms.  There  's  some  young  ones  that  's  so 
everlastin'  chuckle-headed  'n'  hombly  'n'  con- 
trary that  they  ain't  hardly  wuth  savin'  ;  but 
these  ain't  that  kind.  The  baby,  now  you  've 
got  her  cleaned  up,  is  han'somer  'n  any  baby 
on  the  river,  'n'  a  reg'lar  chunk  o'  sunshine 
besides;  I'd  be  willin'  ter  pay  her  a  little 
suthin'  for  livin'  alongside.  The  boy  —  well, 
the  boy  is  a  extra-ordinary  boy.  We  got  on 
tergether  's  slick  as  if  we  was  twins.  That 
boy  's  got  idees,  that  's  what  he  's  got ;  'n' 
he's  likely  to  grow  up  into  —  well,  'most 
anything." 

"If  you  think  so  highly  of  'em,  why  don't 
you  adopt  'em  ? "  asked  Miss  Vilda  curtly. 
"That 's  what  they  seem  to  think  folks  ought 
to  do." 

"  I  ain't  sure  but  I  shall,"  Mr.  Slocum  re- 
sponded unexpectedly.  "If  you  can't  find 
a  better  home  for  'em  somewheres,  I  ain't 
sure  but  I  '11  take  'em  myself.  Land  sakes ! 
if  Rhapseny  was  alive  I  'd  adopt  'em  quicker 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  123 

'n  blazes  ;  but  marm  won't  take  to  the  idee 
very  strong,  I  don't  s'pose,  'n'  she  ain't  much 
on  bringin'  up  children,  as  I  ken  testify. 
Still,  she  's  a  heap  better  'n  a  brick  asylum 
with  a  six-foot  stone  wall  round  it,  when  yer 
come  to  that.  But  I  b'lieve  we  ken  do  better 
for  'em.  I  can  say  to  folks,  '  See  here  :  here  's 
a  couple  o'  smart,  han'some  children.  You 
can  have  'em  for  nothin',  'n'  need  n't  resk 
the  onsartainty  0'  gittin'  married  'n'  raisin' 
yer  own  ;  'n'  when  yer  come  ter  that,  yer 
would  n't  stan'  no  charnce  o'  gittin'  any  as 
likely  as  these  air,  if  ye  did.'  " 

"That 's  true  as  the  gospel!  "  said  Saman- 
tha.  It  nearly  killed  her  to  agree  with  him, 
but  the  words  were  fairly  wrung  from  her 
unwilling  lips  by  his  eloquence  and  wisdom. 

"  Well,  we  '11  see  what  we  can  do  for  'em," 
said  Vilda  in  a  non-committal  tone  ;  "  and 
here  they  '11  have  to  stay,  for  all  I  see,  tell  we 
can  get  time  to  turn  round  and  look  'em  up 
a  place." 

"And  the  way  their  edjercation  has  been 
left  be,"  continued  Mr.  Slocmn,  "  is  a  burnin' 
shame  in  a  Christian  country.  I  don'  b'lieve 
they  ever  see  the  inside  of  a  schoolhouse  ! 


T24  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

^a  I  've  learned  'em  more  this  mornin' 
'n  they  ever  hearn  tell  of  before, 
but  they  're  's  ignorant 's  Cooper's 
cow  yit,  spite  o'  what  I  've  done 
for  'em.  They  don'  know  tansy 
from  sorrel,  nor  slip'ry  ellum  from 
pennyroyal,  nor  burdock  from  pig- 
weed ;  they  don'  know  a  dand'lion 
from  a  hole  in  the  ground ;  they 
don'  know  where  the  birds  put  up 
when  it  comes  on  night ;  they 
never  see  a  brook  afore,  nor  a 
bull-frog ;  they  never  hearn  tell  o* 
cat-o'-nine-tails,  nor  jack-lanterns, 
nor  see-saws.  Land  sakes  !  We 
got  ter  talkin'  'bout  so  many  things 
that  I  clean  forgot  the  summer- 
house  roof.    But  there  !  this  won't 

P|  W1  do  for  me,  I  must  be  goin';  there 

ain't  no  rest  for  the  workin'-man 

in  this  country." 

"  If  there  wan't  no  work  for  him,  he  'd  be 

wuss  off  yet,"  responded  Samantha. 

"  Right   ye  are,   Samanthy  !       Look  here, 

when  'd  you  want  that  box  you  give  me  to 

fix  ? ;' 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  125 

"  I  wanted  it  before  hayin',  but  I  s'pose 
any  time  before  Thanksgivin'  '11  do,  seein' 
it 's  you." 

"  What  's  wuth  doin'  't  all  's  wuth  takin' 
time  over,  's  my  motto,"  said  Jabe  cheerfully, 
"  but  seein'  it 's  you,  I  '11  wrassle  round  'n' 
nail  that  cover  on  ter  night  or  bust ! " 


SCENE    IX 

A    VILLAGE    SABBATH 

;  Now  the  End  of  the  Commandment  is  Charity,  ottt  of 
a  Pure  Heart " 


T  was  Sunday  morning,  and 
the  very  peace  of  God  was 
brooding  over  Pleasant  River. 
Timothy,  Rags,  and  Gay  were 
playing  decorously  in  the  orchard. 
Maria  was  hitched  to  an  apple- 
tree  in  the  side  yard,  and  stood 
there  serenely  with  her  eyes  half  closed, 
dreaming  of  oats  past  and  oats  to  come. 
Miss  Vilda  and  Samantha  issued  from  the 
mosquito-netting  door,  clad  in  Sunday  best ; 
and  the  children  approached  nearer,  that 
they  might  share  in  the  excitement  of  the 
departure  for  "meeting."  Gay,  who  clamored 
to  go,  —  entirely  on  general  principles,  as  she 
had  not  the  slightest  desire  for  spiritual  in- 
struction, being  decidedly  of  the  earth,  earthy, 
—  was  pacified  by  the  gift  of  a  rag  doll  that 
Samantha  had  made  for  her  the  evening  be- 
fore. It  was  a  monstrosity,  but  Gay  dipped 
it  instantly  in  the  alembic  of  her  imagination 
and  it  became  a  beautiful,  responsive  little 


130  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

daughter,  which  she  clasped  close  in  her  arms, 
and  on  which  she  showered  the  tenderest 
tokens  of  maternal  affection. 

Miss  Vilda  handed  Timothy  a  little  green 
paper-covered  book,  before  she  climbed  into 
the  buggy.  "  That  's  a  catechism,"  she  said  ; 
"and  if  you  '11  be  a  good  boy  and  learn  the 
first  six  pages  and  say  'em  to  me  this  after- 
noon, Samantha  '11  give  you  a  top  that  you 
can  spin  on  week  days." 

"  What  is  a  catechism  ? "  asked  Timothy, 
as  he  took  the  book. 

"  It 's  a  Sunday-school  lesson." 

"  Oh,  then  I  can  learn  it,"  said  Timothy, 
brightening  ;  "  I  learned  three  for  Miss  Dora, 
in  the  city." 

"Well,  I  'm  thankful  to  hear  that  you've 
had  some  spiritual  advantages ;  now,  stay 
right  here  in  the  orchard  till  Jabe  comes ; 
and  don't  set  the  house  afire,"  she  added,  as 
Samantha  took  the  reins  and  raised  them  for 
the  mighty  slap  on  Maria's  back  which  was 
necessary  to  wake  her  from  her  Sunday  slum- 
ber. 

"Why  would  I  want  to  set  the  house 
afire  ?  "  Timothy  asked  wonderingly. 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  131 

"Well,  I  don't  know  's  you  would  want 
to,  but  I  thought  you  might  get  to  playin' 
with  matches,  though  I've  hid  'em  all." 

"  Play  with  matches  !  "  exclaimed  Timothy, 
in  wide-eyed  astonishment  that  a  match  could 
appeal  to  anybody  as  a  desirable  plaything. 
"  Oh  no,  thank  you  ;  I  should  n't  have 
thought  of  it." 

"  I  wish  I  had  nvt  suggested  it  then  ;  I  de- 
clare, I  don't  know  as  we  ought  to  have  left 
'em  alone,"  said  Vilda,  looking  back,  as  Sa- 
mantha  urged  the  moderate  Maria  over  the 
road  ;  "though  I  don't  know  exactly  what 
they  could  do." 

"Except  run  away,"  said  Samantha  re- 
flectively. 

"  I  wish  to  the  land  they  would  !  It  would 
be  the  easiest  way  out  of  a  troublesome  mat- 
ter. Every  day  that  goes  by  will  make  it 
harder  for  us  to  decide  what  to  do  with  'em, 
for  you  can't  do  by  those  you  know  the  same 
as  if  they  were  strangers." 

There  was  a  long  main  street  running 
through  the  village  north  and  south.  To- 
ward the  north  it  led  through  a  sweet-scented 
wood,  where  the  grass  tufts  grew  in  verdant 


i32  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

strips  along  the  little  traveled  road.  The 
morning  had  been  damp,  though  now  the  sun 
was  shining  brilliantly.  The  spiders'  webs 
still  covered  the  fields,  gossamer  laces  of 
moist,  spun  silver,  through  which  shone  the 
pink  and  lilac  of  the  meadow  grasses.  The 
wood  was  a  quiet  place,  and  more  than  once 
Miss  Vilda  and  Samantha  had  discussed  mat- 
ters there  which  they  would  never  have  men- 
tioned at  the  White  Farm. 

Maria  went  ambling  along  serenely  through 
the  arcade  of  trees,  where  the  sun  went  wan- 
dering softly,  "as  with  his  hands  before  his 
eyes ; "  overhead,  the  vast  blue  canopy  of 
heaven  ;  under  the  trees,  the  soft  brown  leaf 
carpet,  "woven  by  a  thousand  autumns." 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  could  grow  to  like 
the  baby  in  time,"  said  Vilda,  "though  it 's 
my  opinion  she  's  goin'  to  be  dreadful  trou- 
blesome ;  but  I  'm  more  'n  half  afraid  of  the 
boy.  Every  time  he  looks  at  me  with  those 
searchin'  eyes  of  his,  I  mistrust  he  's  goin' 
to  say  something  about  Marthy, — all  on  ac- 
count of  his  giving  me  such  a  turn  when  he 
came  to  the  door." 

"He'd  be  awful  handy  round  the  house, 


n'  then  again  mebbe 


TIMOTHY'S  QUEST  133 

though,  Vilely ;  that  is,  if  he  is  handy,  — 
pickin'  up  chips,  'n'  layin'  fires,  'n'  what  not ; 
but,  's  you  say,  he  ain't  so  takin'  as  the  baby 
at  first  sight.  She  's  got  the  same  winnin' 
way  with  her  that  Marthy  hed  ! " 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Vilda  grimly;    "and  I 
guess  it 's  the  devil's  own  way." 

"  Well,  yes,  mebbe  ; 
't  ain't.  There  ain't 
no  reason  why  the 
devil  should  own  all 
the  han'some  faces 
'n'  tunesome  laughs, 
't  I  know  of.  Itdoos 
seem  's  if  beauty  was 
tumble  misleadin', 
'n'  I  've  be'n  glad 
sometimes  the  Lord  did  n't  resk  none  of  it  on 
me,  for  I  was  behind  the  door  when  good  looks 
was  give  out,  'n'  I  'm  willin'  t'  own  up  to  it ; 
but,  all  the  same,  I  like  to  see  putty  faces 
roun'  me,  'n'  I  guess  when  the  Lord  sets  his 
mind  on  it  He  can  make  goodness  'n'  beauty 
git  along  comf'tably  in  the  same  body. 
When  yer  come  to  that,  hombly  folks  ain't 
allers  as  good  's  they  might  be,  'n'  no  com- 
fort to  anybody's  eyes,  nuther." 


134  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"You  think  the  boy's  all  right  in  the 
upper  story,  do  you  ?  He  's  a  strange  kind 
of  a  child,  to  my  thinkin'." 

"  I  ain't  so  sure  but  he  's  smarter  'n  we 
be,  but  he  talks  queer,  'n'  no  mistake.  This 
mornin'  he  was  pullin'  the  husks  off  a  young 
ear  o'  corn  that  Jabe  brought  in,  'n'  s'  'e, 
'  S'manthy,  I  think  the  corn  must  be  the 
happiest  of  all  the  vegetables.'  '  How  you 
talk!'  s'  I;  'what  makes  you  think  that 
way  ? '  '  Why,  because,'  s'  'e,  '  God  has  hid- 
den it  away  so  safe,  with  all  that  shinin'  silk 
round  it  first,  'n'  then  the  soft  leaves  wrapped 
outside  o'  the  silk.  I  guess  it 's  God's  fav'rite 
veg'table  ;  don't  you,  S'manthy  ?  '  s'  'e.  And 
when  I  was  showin'  him  pictures  last  night, 
'n'  he  see  the  crosses  on  top  some  o'  the  city 
meetin'-houses,  s'  'e,  '  They  have  two  sticks 
on  'most  all  the  churches,  don't  they,  S'man- 
thy ?  I  s'pose  that 's  one  stick  for  God,  and 
the  other  for  the  people.'  Well,  now,  don't 
you  remember  Seth  Pennell,  o'  Buttertown, 
how  queer  he  was  when  he  was  a  boy  ?  We 
thought  he  'd  never  be  wuth  his  salt.  He 
used  to  stan'  in  the  front  winder  'n'  twirl  the 
curtin'  tossel  for  hours  to  a  time.     And  don't 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  135 

you  know  it  come  out  last  year  that  he  'd 
wrote  a  reg'lar  book,  with  covers  on  it  V 
all,  'n'  that  he  got  five  dollars  a  colume  for 
writin'  poetry  verses  for  the  papers  ?  " 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  mean  that,"  said  Vilda 
argumentatively,  "  I  don't  call  writin'  poetry 
any  great  test  of  smartness.  There  ain't 
been  a  big  fool  in  this  village  for  years  but 
could  do  somethin'  in  the  writin'  line.  I 
guess  it  ain't  any  great  trick,  if  you  have  a 
mind  to  put  yourself  down  to  it.  For  my 
part,  I  've  always  despised  to  see  a  great, 
hulkin'  man,  that  could  handle  a  hoe  or  a 
pitchfork,    sit  down  and  twirl  a  pen-stalk." 

"  Well,  I  ain't  so  sure. 
I  guess  the  Lord  hes 
his  own  way  o'  managin' 
things.  We  ain't  all 
cal'lated  to  hoe  perta- 
ters  nor  yet  to  write  po- 
etry verses.  There  's  as 
much  dif'rence  in  folks  's  there  is  in  anybody. 
Now,  I  can  take  care  of  a  dairy  as  well  as  the 
next  one,  'n'  nobody  was  ever  hearn  to  com- 
plain o'  my  butter ;  but  there  was  that  lady  in 
New  York  State  that  used  to  make  flowers 


Apropos  of  Poets 


136  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

'n' fruit  'n'  graven  images  out  o'  her  churnin's. 
You  've  hearn  tell  o'  that  piece  she  carried 
to  the  Centennial  ?  Now,  no  sech  doin's  's 
that  ever  come  into  my  head.  I  've  went 
on  makin'  round  balls  for  twenty  years  ;  'n', 
massy  on  us,  don't  I  remember  when  my  old 
butter  stamp  cracked,  'n'  I  could  n't  get 
another  with  an  ear  o'  corn  on  it,  'n'  hed 
to  take  one  with  a  beehive,  why,  I  was  that 
homesick  I  could  n't  bear  to  look  my  butter 
'n  the  eye !  But  that  woman  would  have 
had  a  new  picter  on  her  balls  every  day, 
I  should  n't  wonder !  (For  massy's  sake, 
Maria,  don't  stan'  stock-still  'n'  let  the  flies 
eat  yer  right  up  !)  No,  I  tell  yer,  it  takes 
all  kinds  o'  folks  to  make  a  world.  Now,  I 
could  n't  never  read  poetry.  It  's  so  dull,  it 
makes  me  feel 's  if  I  'd  been  trottin'  all  day 
in  the  sun,  but  there  's  folks  that  can  stan' 
it,  or  they  would  n't  keep  on  turnin'  of  it 
out.  The  children  are  nice  children  enough, 
but  have  they  got  any  folks  anywhere,  'n' 
what  kind  of  folks,  'n'  where  'd  they  come 
from,  anyhow  ;  that 's  what  we  've  got  to  find 
out,  'n'  I  guess  it  '11  be  consid'able  of  a 
chore !  " 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  137 

"  I  don't  know  but  you  're  right.  I  thought 
some  of  sendin'  Jabe  to  the  city  to-morrow." 

"  Jabe  ?  Well,  I  s'pose  he  'd  be  back  by 
'nother  spring ;  but  who  'd  we  get  ter  shovel 
us  out  this  winter,  seein'  as  there  ain't  more 
'n  three  men  in  the  whole  village  ?  Aunt 
Hitty  says  twenty-year  engagements  's  goin' 
out  o'  fashion  in  the  big  cities,  'n'  I  'm  glad  if 
they  be.  They  'd  'a'  never  come  in,  I  told  her, 
if  there  'd  ever  been  an  extry  man  in  these 
parts,  but  there  never  was.  If  you  got  holt 
o'  one  by  good  luck,  you  had  ter  keep  holt, 
if  't  was  two  years  or  twenty-two,  or  go  with- 
out. I  used  ter  be  too  proud  ter  go  without ; 
now  I  've  got  more  sense,  thanks  be !  Why 
don't  you  go  to  the  city  yourself,  Vildy  ? 
Jabe  Slocum  ain't  got  sprawl  enough  to  find 
out  anythin'  wuth  knowin'." 

"  I  suppose  I  could  go,  though  I  don't  like 
the  prospect  of  it  very  much.  I  have  n't 
been  there  for  years,  but  I  'd  ought  to  look 
after  my  property  there  once  in  a  while. 
Deary  me !  it  seems  as  if  we  were  n't  ever 
going  to  have  any  more  peace." 

"  Mebbe  we  ain't,"  said  Samantha,  as  they 
wound  up  the  meeting-house  hill ;  "  but  ain't 


138  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

we  bed  'bout  enough  peace  for  one  spell? 
If  peace  was  the  best  thing  we  could  get  in 
this  world,  we  might  as  well  be  them  old 
cows  by  the  side  o'  the  road  there.  There 
ain't  nothin'  so  peaceful  as  a  cow,  when  you 
come  to  that !  " 

The  two  women  went  into  the  church  more 
perplexed  in  mind  than  they  would  have 
cared  to  confess.  During  the  long  prayer 
(the  minister  could  talk  to  God  at  much 
greater  length  than  he  could  talk  about 
Him),  Miss  Vilda  prayed  that  the  Lord  would 
provide  the  two  little  wanderers  with  some 
more  suitable  abiding-place  than  the  White 
Farm ;  and  that,  failing  this,  He  would  in- 
form his  servant  whether  there  was  anything 
unchristian  in  sending  them  to  a  comfortable 
public  asylum.  She  then  reminded  Heaven 
that  she  had  made  the  Foreign  Missionary 
Society  her  residuary  legatee,  a  deed  that  es- 
tablished her  claim  to  being  a  zealous  mem- 
ber of  the  fold,  so  that  she  could  scarcely  be 
blamed  for  not  wishing  to  take  two  orphan 
children  into  her  peaceful  home. 

Well,  it  is  no  great  wonder  that  so  faulty 
a  prayer  did  not  bring  the  wished-for  light  at 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  139 

once ;  but  the  ministering 
angels,  who  had  the  father- 
less little  ones  in  their  care, 
did  not  allow  Miss  Vilda's 
mind  to  rest  quietly.  Just  as 
the  congregation  settled  it- 
self after  the  hymn,  and  the 
palm-leaf  fans  began  to  sway  in  the  air,  a 
swallow  flew  in  through  the  open  window; 
and,  after  fluttering  to  and  fro  over  the  pul- 
pit, hid  itself  in  a  dark  corner,  unnoticed  by 
all  save  the  small  boys  of  the  congregation, 
to  whom  it  was,  of  course,  a  priceless  boon. 
Miss  Vilda  could  not  keep  her  wandering 
thoughts  on  the  sermon  any  more  than  if 
she  had  been  a  small  boy.  She  was  anything 
but  superstitious ;  but  she  had  seen  that 
swallow,  or  some  of  its  ancestors,  before. 
...  It  had  flown  into  the  church  on  the 
very  Sunday  of  her  mother's  death.  .  .  . 
They  had  left  her  sitting  in  the  high-backed 
rocker  by  the  window,  the  great  family 
Bible  and  her  spectacles  on  the  little  light- 
stand  beside  her.  .  .  .  When  they  returned 
from  church,  they  had  found  their  mother 
sitting   as    they   left    her,    with  a  smile  on 


140  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

her  face,  but  silent  and  lifeless.  .  .  .  And 
through  the  glass  of  the  spectacles,  as  they 
lay  on  the  printed  page,  Vilda  had  read  the 
words,  "  For  a  bird  of  the  air  shall  carry  the 
voice,  and  that  which  hath  wings  shall  tell 
the  matter ; "  had  read  them  wonderingly, 
and  marked  the  place  with  reverent  fingers. 
.  .  .  The  swallow  flew  in  again,  years  after- 
ward. .  .  .  She  could  not  remember  the  day 
or  the  month,  but  she  could  never  forget 
the  summer,  for  it  was  the  last  bright  one 
of  her  life,  the  last  that  pretty  Martha  ever 
spent  at  the  White  Farm.  .  .  .  And  now 
here  was  the  swallow  again.  ..."  For  a 
bird  of  the  air  shall  carry  the  voice,  and  that 
which  hath  wings  shall  tell  the  matter." 
Miss  Vilda  looked  on  the  book  and  tried  to 
follow  the  hymn ;  but  passages  of  Scrip- 
ture flocked  into  her  head  in  place  of  good 
Dr.  Watts's  verses,  and  when  the  little  me- 
lodeon  played  the  interludes  she  could  only 
hear :  — 

"Yea,  the  sparrow  hath  found  her  an 
house  and  the  swallow  a  nest  where  she  may 
lay  her  young,  even  Thy  altars,  O  Lord  of 
hosts,  my  King  and  my  God." 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  141 

"As  a  bird  that  wandereth  from  her  nest, 
so  is  a  man  that  wandereth  from  his  place." 

"The  foxes  have  holes  and  the  birds  of 
the  air  have  nests,  but  the  Son  of  Man  hath 
not  where  to  lay  his  head." 

And  then  the  text  fell  on  her  bewildered 
ears,  and  roused  her  from  one  reverie  to 
plunge  her  in  another.  It  was  chosen,  as  it 
chanced,  from  the  First  Epistle  of  Timothy, 
chapter  first,  verse  fifth  :  "  Now  the  end  of 
the  commandment  is  charity,  out  of  a  pure 
heart." 

"That  means  the  Missionary  Society," 
said  Miss  Vilda  to  her  conscience  doggedly; 
but  she  knew  better.  The  parson,  the  text, 
—  or  was  it  the  bird  ?  —  had  brought  the 
message ;  but  for  the  moment  she  did  not 
lend  the  hearing  ear  or  the  understanding 
heart. 


SCENE   X 

THE    SUPPER    TABLE 


Aunt  Hitty  coines  to  "  make  over"  and  supplies 
Back  Numbers  to  all  the  Village  Histories 


AUNT  HITTY,  otherwise  Mrs. 
Silas  Tarbox,  was  as  cheery 
and   loquacious    a   person    as 


% 


you  could  find  in  a  Sabbath 
day' s  j  ourney.  She  was  arm  ed 
with  a  substantial  amount  of 
knowledge  at  almost  every 
f  conceivable  point ;  but  if  an  un- 

expected emergency  ever  did  arise, 
her  imagination  was  equal  to  the 
strain  put  upon  it  and  rose  superior  to 
the  occasion.  Yet  of  an  evening,  or  on 
Sunday,  she  was  no  village  gossip ;  it  was 
only  when  you  put  a  needle  in  her  hand  or  a 
cutting-board  in  her  lap  that  her  memory 
started  on  its  interminable  journeyings 
through  the  fields  of  the  past.  She  knew 
every  biography  and  every  "  ought-to-be- 
ography  "  in  the  county,  and  could  tell  you 
the  branches  of  every  genealogical  tree  in 
the  village. 

It  was  dusk  at  the  White  Farm,  and  a  late 


146  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

supper  was  spread  upon  the  hospitable  board. 
Aunt  Hitty  was  always  sure  of  a  bountiful 
repast.  If  one  were  going  to  economize  one 
would  not  choose  for  that  purpose  the  day 
when  the  village  seamstress  came  to  sew ; 
especially  when  the  aforesaid  lady  served 
the  community  in  the  stead  of  a  local  news- 
paper. 

The  children  had  eaten  their  bread  and 
milk,  and  were  out  in  the  barn  with  Jabe, 
watching  the  milking.  Aunt  Hitty  was  in  a 
cheerful  mood  as  she  reflected  on  her  day's 
achievements.  Out  of  Dr.  Jonathan  Cum- 
mins' old  cape  coat  she  had  carved  a  pair  of 
brief  trousers  and  a  vest  for  Timothy ;  out  of 
Mrs.  Jonathan  Cummins'  waterproof,  a  ser- 
viceable jacket;  and  out  of  Deacon  Abijah 
Cummins'  linen  duster  an  additional  coat  and 
vest  for  warm  clays.  The  owners  of  these 
garments  had  been  dead  many  years,  but 
nothing  was  ever  thrown  away,  and,  for  that 
matter,  very  little  given  away,  at  the  White 
Farm,  and  the  ancient  habiliments  had  finally 
been  diverted  to  a  useful  purpose. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  relish  my  vittles  to-night," 
said  Aunt  Hitty,  as  she  poured  her  tea  into 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  147 

her  saucer,  and  set  the  cup  in  her  little  blue 
"cup  plate ;  "  "but  I  've  had  the  neuralgy  so 
in  my  face  that  it 's  be'n  more  'n  ten  days 
sence  I  've  be'n  able  to  carry  a  knife  to  my 
mouth.  .  .  .  Your  meat  vittles  is  always  so 
tasty,  Miss  Cummins.  I  was  sayin'  to  Mis 
Sawyer  last  week  I  think  she  lets  her  beef 
hang  too  long.  It 's  dretful  tender,  but  I 
don't  b'lieve  its  hullsome.  For  my  part,  as 
I  've  many  a  time  said  to  Si,  I  like  meat  with 
some  chaw  to  it.  Mis  Sawyer  don't  put  half 
enough  vittles  on  her  table.  She  thinks  it 
scares  folks  ;  it  don't  me  a  mite,  it  makes 
me  's  hungry  as  a  wolf.  When  I  set  a  table 
for  comp'ny  I  pile  on  a  hull  lot,  'n'  I  find 
it  kind  o'  discourages  'em.  .  .  .  Mis  South- 
wick  's  hevin'  a  reg'lar  brash  o'  house- 
cleanin'.  She  's  too  p'ison  neat  for  any 
earthly  use,  that  woman  is.  She  's  fixed 
clam-shell  borders  roun'  all  her  garding  beds, 
an'  got  enough  left  for  a  pile  in  one  corner, 
where  she  's  goin'  to  set  her  oleander  kag. 
Then  she  's  bought  a  haircloth  chair  and  got 
a  new  three-ply  carpet  in  her  parlor,  'n'  put 
the  old  one  in  the  spare-room  'n'  the  back- 
entry.       Her   daughter  's   down   here   from 


148  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

New  Haven.  She  's  married  into  one  of  the 
first  families  o'  Connecticut,  Lobelia  has,  'n' 
she  puts  on  a  good  many  airs.  She  's  rigged 
out  her  mother's  parlor  with  lace  curtains  'n' 
one  thing  'n'  'other,  'n'  wants  it  called  the 
drawin'-room.  Did  ye  ever  hear  tell  such 
foolishness?  'Drawin'-room!'  s'  I  to  Si; 
'  what  's  it  goin'  to  draw  ?  Nothin'  but  flies, 
I  guess  likely  ! '  (No  more,  thank  you,  my 
cup  ain't  out  yet.)  Mis  Pennell  's  got  a  new 
girl  to  help  round  the  house,  — one  o'  them 
pindlin'  light-complected  Smith  girls,  from 
the  Swamp,  —  look's  if  they  was  missed 
on  bonny-clabber.  She  's  so  hombly  I  sh'd 
think  't  would  make  her  back  ache  to  carry 
her  head  round.  She  ain't  very  smart, 
neither.  Her  mother  sent  word  she  'd  pick 
up  'n'  do  better  when  she  got  her  growth. 
That  made  Mis  Pennell  hoppin'  mad.  She 
said  she  did  n't  cal'late  to  pay  a  girl  three 
shillin's  a  week  for  growin'.  Mis  Pennell 's 
be'n  feelin'  consid'able  slim,  or  she  would  n't 
'a'  hired  help  ;  it 's  just  like  pullin'  teeth  for 
Deacon  Pennell  to  pay  out  money  for  any» 
thing  like  that.  He  watches  every  mouthful 
the  girl  puts  into  her  mouth,  'n'  it 's  made 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  149 

him  'bout  down  sick  to  sec  her  fleshin'  up 
on  his  vittles.  They  say  he  has  her  put  the 
mornin'  coffee-groun's  to  dry  on  the  winder- 
sill,  'n'  then  has  'em  scalt  over  for  dinner ; 
but,  there !  I  don't 
know  's  there  's  a  mite  o' 
truth  in  it,  so  I  won't  re- 
peat it.  They  went  to 
him  to  git  a  subscription 
for  the  new  hearse  the 
other  day.  Land  sakes  ! 
we  need  one  bad  enough. 
I  thought  for  sure,  at 
the  last  funeral  we  had, 
that  they  'd  never  git 
Mis  Strout  to  the  grave- 
yard safe  and  sound.  I 
kep'  a-thinkin'  all  the  way  how  she  'd  'a' 
took  on,  if  she  'd  be'n  alive.  She  was  the 
most  timersome  woman 't  ever  was.  She  was 
a  Thomson,  'n'  all  the  Thomsons  was  scairt 
at  their  own  shadders.  Ivory  Strout  rid 
right  behind  the  hearse,  'n'  he  says  his  heart 
was  in  his  mouth  the  hull  durin'  time  for 
fear 't  would  break  down  'n'  spill  poor  Ann 
Elizy  out.     He  did  n't  git  much  comfort  out 


Gossip 


150  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

the  occasion,  I  guess  !  Wan't  he  mad  he  hed 
to  ride  in  the  same  buggy  with  his  mother- 
in-law  !  The  minister  planned  it  all  out,  V 
wrote  down  the  order  o'  the  mourners,  'n' 
passeled  him  out  with  old  Mis  Thomson.  I 
was  stan'in'  close  by,  'n'  I  heard  him  say  he 
s' posed  he  could  go  that  way  if  he  must,  but 
't  would  spile  the  hull  blamed  thing  for  him  ! 
.  .  .  Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  the  ^leckmen 
went  to  Deacon  Pennell  to  get  a  contribution 
towards  buyin'  the  new  hearse ;  an'  do  you 
know,  he  would  n't  give  'em  a  dollar  ?  He 
told  'em  he  give  five  dollars  towards  the 
other  one  more  'n  twenty  years  ago,  'n' 
had  n't  never  got  a  cent's  worth  o'  use  out  of 
it.  That's  Deacon  Pennell  all  over!  As  Si 
says,  if  the  grace  o'  God  wan't  given  to  all 
of  us  without  money  'n'  without  price,  you 
would  n't  never  hev  ketched  Deacon  Pennell 
experiencin'  religion  !  He  puts  an  awful 
sight  of  energy  into  it  when  he  sings  'I'm 
glad  salvation's  free!'  and  it  would  have  to 
be  a  free  gospel  that  would  convict  him  o'  sin, 
that 's  certain  !  .  .  .  They  say  Seth  Thatcher 
's  married  out  in  Iowy.  His  mother  's  tickled 
'most  to  death.     She  heerd  he  was  settin' 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  151 

up  with  a  girl  out  there,  'n'  she  was  scairt  to 
death  for  fear  he  'd  get  served  as  Lemuel  'n' 
Cyrus  was.  The  Thatcher  boys  never  hed 
any  luck  gettin'  married,  V  they  always  took 
disappointments  in  love  tumble  hard.  You 
know  Cyrus  set  in  that  front  winder  o'  Mis 
Thatcher's,  'n'  rocked  back  'n'  forth  for  ten 
year,  till  he  wore  out  five  cane-bottomed 
cheers,  'n'  then  rocked  clean  through  down 
cellar  all  on  account  o'  Crany  Ann  Sweat. 
Well,  I  hope  she  got  her  comeuppance  in 
another  world,  —  she  never  did  in  this  ;  she 
married  well  'n'  lived  in  Boston.  .  .  .  Mis 
Thatcher  hopes  Seth  '11  come  home  to  live. 
She  's  dretful  lonesome  in  that  big  house,  all 
alone.  She  'd  oughter  have  somebody  for  a 
company-keeper.  She  can't  see  nothin'  but 
trees  'n'  cows  from  her  winders.  .  .  .  Beats 
all,  the  places  they  used  to  put  houses. 
Either  they  'd  get  'em  right  under  foot  so  't 
you  'd  most  tread  on  'em  when  you  walked 
along  the  road,  or  else  they  'd  set  'em  clean 
back  in  a  lane,  where  the  women  folks 
could  n't  see  face  o'  clay  week  in  'n'  week 
out.  (A  few  more  o'  your  cold  string  beans, 
Miss  Cummins.) 


152  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"Joel  Whitten's  widder  's  just  drawed  his 
pension  along  o'  his  bein'  in  the  war  o'  1812. 
It 's  took  'em  all  these  years  to  fix  it.  Massy 
sakes  !  don't  some  folks  have  their  luck  but- 
tered in  this  world  ?  .  .  .  She  was  his  fourth 
wife,  'n'  she  never  lived  with  him  but  thir- 
teen days  'fore  he  up  'n'  died.  ...  It  doos 
seem  's  if  the  guv'ment  might  look  after 
things  a  little  mite  closer.  .  .  .  Talk  about 
Joel  Whitten's  bein'  in  the  war  o'  1812! 
Everybody  knows  Joel  Whitten  would  n't 
have  fit  a  skeeter !  He  never  got  any 
further  'n  Scratch  Corner,  anyway,  'n'  there 
he  clim  a  tree  or  hid  behind  a  hen-coop  some- 
wheres  till  the  regiment  got  out  o'  sight.  .  .  . 
Yes  :  one,  two,  three,  four,  —  Huldy  was  his 
fourth  wife.  Mis  first  was  a  Hogg,  from 
Hoggses  Mills.  The  second  was  Dorcas 
Doolittle,  aunt  to  Jabe  Slocum ;  she  did  n't 
hardly  know  enough  to  make  soap,  Dorcas 
did  n't.  .  .  .  Then  there  was  Delia  Weeks, 
from  the  Lower  Corner.  .  .  .  She  did  n't 
live  long.  .  .  .  There  was  somethin'  wrong 
with  Delia.  .  .  .  She  was  one  o'  the  thin- 
blooded,  white-livered  kind.  .  .  .  You  could  n't 
get  her  warm,  no  matter  how  hard  you  tried. 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  153 

„  .  .  She  cl  set  over  a  roarin'  fire  in  the  cook- 
stove  even  in  the  prickliest  o'  the  dog-days. 
.  .  .  The  mill-folks  used  to  say  the  Whittens 
burnt  more  cut-roun's  'n'  stickens  'n  any  three 
fam'lies  in  the  village.  .  .  .  Well,  after  Delia 
died,  then  come  Huldy's  turn,  'n'  it's  she, 
after  all,  that 's  drawed  the  pension.  .  .  . 
Huldy  took  Joel's  death  consid'able  hard, 
seein'  as  she  never  had  him  but  thirteen 
days,  but  I  guess  she  '11  perk  up,  now  she  's 
come  hit'  this  money.  .  .  . 
She's  awful  leaky -minded, 
Huldy  is,  but  she  's  got  tender 
feelin's.  .  .  .  One  day  she 
happened  in  at  noon-time,  'n' 
set  clown  to  the  table  with  Si 
'n'  I.  .  .  .  All  of  a  suddent 
she  bust  right  out  cryin'  when 
Si  was  offerin'  her  a  piece  o' 
tripe,  'n'  then  it  come  out 
that  she  could  n't  never  bear 
the  sight  o'  tripe,  it  reminded 
her  so  of  Joel !  It  seems 
tripe  was  a  favorite  dish  o' 
Joel's.  All  his  wives  cooked 
it     first-rate.        (Don't     you 


i54  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

trouble  to  give  me  another  plate,  Samanthy. 
I  've  eat  pretty  close  and  I  can  take  my  pie 
right  on  this  one  'n'  save  washin'  now  you  've 
got  such  a  big  family.) 

"Jabe  Slocum  seems  to  set  consid'able 
store  by  them  children,  don't  he  ?  .  .  .  I 
guess  he  '11  never  ketch  up  with  his  work, 
now  he  's  got  them  hangin'  to  his  heels.  .  .  . 
He  doos  beat  all  for  slowness  !  S/ocum  's  a 
good  name  for  him,  that  's  certain.  An'  's  if 
that  wan't  enough,  his  mother  was  a  Still- 
well,  'n'  her  mother  was  a  Doolittle  !  .  .  . 
The  Doolittles  was  the  slowest  fam'ly  in  Lin- 
coln County.  (Thank  you,  I  'm  well  helped, 
Samanthy.)  Old  Cyrus  Doolittle  was  slower 
'n  a  toad  funeral.  He  was  a  carpenter  by 
trade,  'n'  he  was  twenty-five  years  buildin'  his 
house,  'n'  it  warn't  no  great,  either.  .  .  . 
The  stagin'  was  up  ten  or  fifteen  years,  'n'  he 
shingled  it  four  or  five  times  before  he  got 
roun',  for  one  patch  o'  shingles  used  to  wear 
out  'fore  he  got  the  next  patch  on.  He  'n' 
Mis  Doolittle  lived  in  two  rooms  in  the  L. 
There  was  elegant  banisters,  but  no  stairs 
to  'em,  'n'  no  entry  floors.  There  was  a  tip- 
top cellar,  but  there  wa'n't  no  way  o'  gittin' 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  155 

down  to  it,  'n'  there  wan't  no  conductors 
to  the  cisterns.  There  was  only  one  door 
panel  painted  in  the  parlor.  Land  sakes ! 
the  neighbors  used  to  happen  in  'bout  every 
week  for  years  'n'  years,  hopin'  he  'd  get  an- 
other one  finished  up,  but  he  never  did,  — 
not  to  my  knowledge.  .  .  .  Why,  it  's  the 
gospel  truth  that  when  Mis  Doolittle  died  he 
had  to  have  her  embalmed,  so  't  he  could  git 
the  front  door  hung  for  the  fun'ral !  It  was 
pretty  expensive,  but  money  wan't  so  much 
importance  to  Mr.  Doolittle  if  he  could  save 
himself  hurryin'.  (No  more  tea,  I  thank  you.) 
.  .  .  Speakin'  o'  slow  folks,  Elder  Banks  tells 
an  awful  good  story  'bout  Jabe  Slocum.  .  .  „ 
There  's  another  man  down  to  Edgewood, 
Aaron  Peek  by  name,  that 's  'bout  as  lazy  as 
Jabe.  An'  one  day,  when  the  loafers  roun' 
the  store  was  talkin'  'bout  'em,  all  of  a  sud- 
dent  they  see  the  two  of  'em  startin'  to  come 
down  Marm  Berry's  hill,  right  in  plain  sight 
of  the  store.  .  .  .  Well,  one  o'  the  Edgewood 
boys  bate  one  o'  the  Pleasant  River  boys 
that  they  could  tell  which  one  of  'em  was  the 
laziest  by  the  way  they  come  down  that  hill. 
...  So  they  all  watched,  'n'  bime  by,  when 


156  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

Jabe  was  most  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
hill,  they  was  struck  all  of  a  heap  to  see  him 
break  into  a  kind  of  a  jog  trot  'n'  run  down 
the  balance  o'  the  way.  Well,  then,  they  fell 
to  quarrelin' ;  for  o'  course  the  Pleasant  River 
folks  said  Aaron  Peek  was  the 
laziest,  'n'  the  Edgewood  boys 
declared  he  hedn't  got  no  such 
record  for  laziness 's  Jabe  Slo- 
cum  hed  ;  an'  when  they  was 
explainin'  of  it,  one  way  'n' 
'nother,  Elder  Banks  come 
along,  'n'  they  asked  him  to  be 
the  judge.  When  he  heerd  tell 
how  't  was,  he  said  he  agreed 
with  the  Edgewood  folks  that 
Jabe  was  lazier  'n  Aaron. 
'Well  I  snum,  I  don't  see  how 
you  make  that  out,'  says  the 
Pleasant  River  boys ;  '  for  Aaron  walked 
down,  'n'  Jabe  run  a  piece  o'  the  way,  't  any 
rate  ? '  'If  Jabe  Slocum  run,'  says  the  Elder, 
as  impressive  as  if  he  was  preachin',  —  'if 
Jabe  Slocum  ever  run,  then  't  was  because 
he  was  too  doggoned  lazy  to  hold  back  ! '  an' 
that    settled  it !  .  .  .  No,     I    could  n't    eat 


Couldn't  eat  auotJier 
tnossel ' ' 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  r57 

another  mossel,  Miss  Cummins  ;  I  'vc  made 
out  a  splendid  supper.  .  .  .  You  can't  git 
such  pie  'n'  doughnuts  anywhere  else  in  the 
village,  'n'  what  I  say  I  mean.  .  .  .  Do  you 
make  your  riz  doughnuts  with  emptin's  ?  I 
want  to  know  !  Si  says  there  's  more  faculty 
in  cookin'  flour  food  than  there  is  in  meat 
victuals,  'n'  I  guess  he  's  'bout  right." 

It  was  bed-time,  and  Timothy  was  in  his 
little  room  carrying  on  the  most  elaborate 
and  complicated  plots  for  reading  the  future. 
It  must  be  known  that  Jabe  Slocum  was  as 
full  of  signs  as  a  Farmer's  Almanac,  and  he 
had  given  Timothy  more  than  one  formula 
for  attaining  his  secret  desires,  —  old,  well- 
worn  recipes  for  luck,  which  had  been  tried 
for  generations  in  Pleasant  River,  and  which 
were  absolutely  certain  in  their  results.  The 
favorites  were  :  — 

"  Star  bright,  star  light, 
First  star  I  've  seen  to-night, 
Wish  I  ma)',  wish  I  might, 
Get  the  wish  I  wish  to-night ;  " 

and  one  still  more  impressive  :  — 

"  Four  posts  upon  my  bed, 
Four  corners  overhead ; 


1 58  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John, 
Bless  the  bed  I  lay  upon. 
Matthew,  John,  Luke,  and  Mark, 
Grant  my  wish  and  keep  it  dark." 

These  rhymes  had  been  chanted  with  great 
solemnity,  and  Timothy  sat  by  the  open  win- 
dow in  the  sweet  darkness  of  the  summer 
night,  wishing  that  he  and  Gay  might  stay 
forever  in  this  sheltered  spot.  "  I  '11  make 
a  sign  of  my  very  own,"  he  thought.  "  I  '11 
get  Gay's  ankle-tie,  and  put  it  on  the  win- 
dow-sill, with  the  toe  pointing  out.  Then 
I  '11  wish  that  if  we  are  going  to  stay  at  the 
White  Farm,  the  angels  will  turn  it  around, 
'  toe  in '  to  the  room,  for  a  sign  to  me ; 
and  if  we  've  got  to  go,  I  '11  wish  they  may 
leave  it  the  other  way ;  and,  oh  clear,  but 
I  'm  glad  it  's  so  little  and  easy  to  move ; 
then  I  '11  say  Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and 
John,  four  times  over,  without  stopping,  as 
Jabe  told  me  to,  then  I  '11  say  my  prayer 
and  what  I  can  remember  of  the  catechism, 
then  I  '11  see  how  it  turns  out  in  the 
morning."  .  .  . 

But  the  incantation  was  more  soothing 
than  the  breath  of   Miss  Vilda's  scarlet  pop- 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  i59 

pics,  and  before  the  magical  verse  had  fallen 
upon  the  drowsy  air  for  the  third  time,  Tim- 
othy was  fast  asleep,  with  a  smile  of  hope  on 
his  parted  lips. 

There  was  a  sweet  summer  shower  in  the 
night.  The  soft  breezes,  fresh  from  shaded 
dells  and  nooks  of  fern,  fragrant  with  the 
odor  of  pine  and  vine  and  wet  wood-violets, 
blew  over  the  thirsty  meadows  and  golden 
stubble-fields,  and  brought  an  hour  of  gentle 
rain. 

It  sounded  a  merry  tintinnabulation  on 
Samantha's  milk-pans,  wafted  the  scent  of 
dripping  honeysuckle  into  the  farmhouse 
windows,  and  drenched  the  night-caps  in 
which  prudent  farmers  had  dressed  their 
haycocks. 

Next  morning  the  green  world  stood  on 
tiptoe  to  welcome  the  victorious  sun,  and 
every  little  leaf  shone  as  a  child's  eyes  might 
shine  at  the  remembrance  of  a  joy  just  past. 

A  bobolink,  perched  on  a  swaying  apple- 
branch  above  Martha's  grave,  poured  out  his 
soul  in  grateful  melody.  Timothy,  wakened 
by  Nature's  sweet  good-morning,  leaped 
from  the  too  fond  embrace  of  Miss  Vilda's 


i (So  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

feather-bed,  and  lo,  a  miracle  !  Timothy's 
angels  had  interpreted  his  signs  in  their 
own  way.  The  woodbine  clung  close  to  the 
wall  beneath  his  window.  It  was  tipped  with 
strong  young  shoots  reaching  out  their  in- 
nocent hands  to  cling  to  any  support  that 
offered ;  and  one  baby  tendril  that  seemed 
to  have  grown  in  a  single  night,  so  delicate  it 
was,  had  somehow  been  blown  by  the  sweet 
night  wind  from  its  drooping  place  on  the 
parent  vine,  and,  falling  on  the  window-sill, 
had  curled  lovingly  round  Gay's  fairy  shoe 
and  held  it  fast  ! 


SCENE    XI 

THE    HONEYSUCKLE    PORCH 

Miss  Vilda  decides  that  Two  is  One  too  many,  and 
Timotliy  breaks  a  Humming-Bird's  Egg 


T  was  a  drowsy  afternoon.  The 
grasshoppers  chirped  lazily  in  the 
<J\  warm  grasses,  and  the  toads 
f*F  blinked  sleepily  under  the  shad- 
ows of  the  steps,  scarcely  snap- 
ping at  the  flies  as  they  danced  by  on 
silver  wings.  Down  in  the  old  garden  the 
still  pools,  in  which  the  laughing  brook  rested 
itself  here  and  there,  shone  like  glass  under 
the  strong  beams  of  the  sun,  and  the  baby 
horned-pouts,  rustling  their  whiskers  drow- 
sily, scarcely  stirred  the  water  as  they  glided 
slowly  through  its  crystal  depths. 

The  air  was  fragrant  with  the  odor  of 
new-mown  grass  and  the  breath  of  wild 
strawberries  that  had  fallen  under  the  sickle 
to  make  the  sweet  hay  sweeter  with  their 
crimson  juices.  The  whir  of  the  scythes  and 
the  clatter  of  the  mowing-machine  came 
from  the  distant  meadows.     Field  mice  and 


■if"' 


164  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

ground  sparrows  were  aware  that 
it  probably  was  all  up  with  their 
little  summer  residences,  for 
haying  time  was  at  its  height, 
and  the  Giant,  mounted  on  the 
Avenging  Chariot,  would  speed- 
ily make  his  appearance  ;  butter- 
cups and  daisies,  tufted  grasses 
and  blossoming  weeds,  must  all 
bow  their  heads  before  him,  and 
if  there  was  anything  more  val- 
uable hidden  at  their  roots,  so 
much  the  worse ! 

Supposing  a  bird  or  mouse 
had  been  especially  far-sighted 
and  had  located  his  family  near 
a  stump  fence  on  a  particularly 
uneven  bit  of  ground,  why  there 
was  always  a  walking  Giant 
going  about  the  edges  with  a 
gleaming  scythe,  so  that  it  was 
no  wonder,  when  reflecting  on 
these  matters  after  a  clay's  pal- 
pitation, that  the  little  deni- 
zens of  the  fields  thought  it  very  natural  that 
there  should  be  Nihilists   and    Socialists  in 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  165 

the  world,  plotting  to 
overturn  monopolies 
and  other  gigantic 
schemes  for  crushing 
the  people. 

Rags  enjoyed  the 
excitement  of  haying 
immensely.  His  life 
was  one  long  holiday 
now,  and  the  close 
quarters,  scanty  fare, 
and  wearisome  mo- 
notony of  Minerva 
Court  only  visited  his 
memory  dimly  when 
he  was  suffering  the 
pangs  of  indigestion. 
In  the  first  few  weeks 

of  his  life  at  the  White  Farm,  before  his 
appetite  was  satiated,  he  was  wont  to  eat  all 
the  white  cat's  food  as  well  as  his  own ;  and 
as  this  highway  robbery  took  place  in  the  re- 
tirement of  the  shed,  where  Samantha  Ann 
always  swept  them  for  their  meals,  no  human 
being  was  any  the  wiser,  and  only  the  angels 
saw  the  white  cat  getting  whiter  and  whiter 


1 66  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

and  thinner  and  thinner,  while  every  day 
Rags  grew  more  corpulent  and  aldermanic 
in  his  figure ;  although  as  his  stomach  was 
more  favorably  located  than  an  alderman's, 
he  could  still  see  the  surrounding  country, 
and  he  had  the  further  advantage  of  pos- 
sessing four  legs,  instead  of  two,  to  carry  it 
about. 

Timothy  was  happy,  for  he  was  a  dreamer, 
and  this  quiet  life  harmonized  well  with  the 
airy  fabric  of  his  dreams.  He  loved  every 
stick  and  stone  about  the  old  homestead 
already,  because  the  place  had  brought  him 
the  only  glimpse  of  freedom  and  joy  that  he 
could  remember  in  these  last  bare  and  anx- 
ious years ;  and  if  there  were  other  and 
brighter  years,  far,  far  back  in  the  misty  gar- 
dens of  the  past,  they  only  yielded  him  a  se- 
cret sense  of  "having  been,"  a  memory  that 
could  never  be  captured  and  put  into  words. 

Each  morning  he  woke  fearing  to  find  his 
present  life  a  vision,  and  each  morning  he 
gazed  with  unspeakable  gladness  at  the  sweet 
reality  that  stretched  itself  before  his  eyes 
as  he  stood  for  a  moment  at  his  window  above 
the  honeysuckle  porch. 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  167 

There  were  the  cucumber  frames  (he  had 
helped  Jabe  to  make  them)  ;  the  old  summer- 
house  in  the  garden  (he  had  held  the  basket 
of  nails  and  handed  Jabe  the  tools  when  he 
patched  the  roof)  ;  the  little  workshop  where 
Samantha  potted  her  tomato  plants  (he  had 
been  allowed  to  water  them  twice,  with  fin- 
gers trembling  at  the  thought  of  too  little 
or  too  much  for  the  tender  things)  ;  and  the 
grindstone  where  Jabe  ground  the  scythes 
and  told  him  stories  as  he  sat  and  turned  the 
wheel,  while  Gay  sat  beside  them  making 
dandelion  chains.  Yes,  it  was  all  there,  and 
he  was  a  part  of  it. 

Timothy  had  all  the  poet's  faculty  of  in- 
terpreting the  secrets  that  are  hidden  in 
every-day  things,  and  when  he  lay  prone  on 
the  warm  earth  in  the  cornfield,  deep  among 
the  "varnished  crispness  of  the  jointed 
stalks,"  the  rustling  of  the  green  things 
growing  sent  thrills  of  joy  along  the  sensitive 
currents  of  his  being.  He  was  busy  in  his 
room  this  afternoon  putting  little  partitions 
in  some  cigar  boxes,  where,  very  soon,  two 
or  three  dozen  birds'  eggs  were  to  repose  in 
fleece-lined  nooks  :  for  Jabe  Slocum's  collec- 


i6S  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

tion  of  three  summers  (every  egg  acquired 
in  the  most  honorable  manner,  as  he  ex- 
plained) had  all  passed  into  Timothy's  hands 
that  very  day,  in  consideration  of  various 
services  well  and  conscientiously  performed. 
What  a  delight  it  was  to  handle  the  precious 
bits  of  things,  like  porcelain  in  their  dainti- 
ness! —  to  sort  out  the  tender  blue  of  the 
robin,  the  speckled  beauty  of  the  sparrow  ;  to 
put  the  peewee's  and  the  thrush's  each  in 
its  place,  with  a  swift  throb  of  regret  that 
there  would  have  been  another  little  soft 
throat  bursting  with  a  song,  if  some  one  had 
not  taken  this  pretty  egg.  And  there  was, 
over  and  above  all,  the  never-ending  marvel 
of  the  one  humming-bird's  egg  that  lay  like 
a  pearl  in  Timothy's  slender  brown  hand. 
Too  tiny  to  be  stroked  like  the  others,  only 
big  enough  to  be  stealthily  kissed.  So  tiny 
that  he  must  get  out  of  bed  two  or  three 
times  in  the  night  to  see  if  it  is  safe.  So 
tiny  that  he  has  horrible  fears  lest  it  should 
slip  out  or  be  stolen,  and  so  he  must  take 
the  box  to  the  window  and  let  the  moonlight 
shine  upon  the  fleecy  cotton,  and  find  that  it 
is  still  there,  and  cover  it  safely  over  again 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  169 

and  creep  back  to  bed,  wishing  that  he  might 
see  a  "  thumb's  bigness  of  burnished  plum- 
age "  sheltering  it  with  her  speck  of  a  breast. 
Ah  !  to  have  a  little  humming-bird's  egg  to 
love,  and  to  feel  that  it  was  his  very  own, 
was  something  to  Timothy,  as  it  is  to  all 
starved  human  hearts  full  of  love  that  can 
find  no  outlet. 

Miss  Vilda  was  knitting,  and  Samantha 
was  shelling  peas  on  the  honeysuckle  porch. 
Several  clays  had  passed  since  Miss  Cummins 
had  gone  to  the  city  and  come  back  no  wiser 
than  she  went,  save  that  she  had  made  a 
somewhat  exhaustive  study  of  the  slums,  and 
had  acquired  a  more  intimate  knowledge  of 
the  ways  of  the  world  than  she  had  ever  pos- 
sessed before.  She  had  found  Minerva 
Court,  and  designated  it  on  her  return  as  a 
"  sink  of  iniquity,"  to  which  Afric's  sunny 
fountains,  India's  coral  strand,  and  other 
tropical  localities  frequented  by  missionaries 
were  virtuous  in  comparison. 

"  For  you  don't  expect  anything  of  black 
heathens,"  said  she;  "but  there  ain't  any 
question  in  my  mind  about  the  accountability 
of  folks  livin'  in  a  Christian  country,  where 


170  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

you  can  wear  clothes  and  set  up  to  an  air- 
tight stove  and  be  comfortable,  to  say  nothin' 
of  meetin'-houses  every  mile  or  two,  and 
Bible  Societies  and  Young  Men's  and  Young 
Women's  Christian  Associations,  and  the 
gospel  free  to  all  with  the  exception  of  pew 
rents  and  contribution  boxes,  and  those 
omitted  when  it  's  necessary." 

She  affirmed  that  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
whose  acquaintance  she  had  made  in  Minerva 
Court  were,  without  exception,  a  "  mess  o' 
malefactors,"  whose  only  good  point  was 
that,  lacking  all  human  qualities,  they  did 
not  care  who  she  was,  nor  where  she  came 
from,  nor  what  she  came  for  ;  so  that,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  had  escaped  without  so 
much  as  leaving  her  name  and  place  of  resi- 
dence. She  learned  that  Mrs.  Nancy  Sim- 
mons had  sought  pastures  new  in  Montana  ; 
that  Miss  Ethel  Montmorency  still  resided  in 
the  metropolis,  but  did  not  choose  to  disclose 
her  modest  dwelling-place  to  the  casual  in- 
quiring female  from  the  rural  districts  ;  that 
a  couple  of  children  had  disappeared  from 
Minerva  Court,  if  they  remembered  rightly, 
but    that    there    was    no    disturbance    made 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  171 

about  the  matter  as  it  saved  several  people 
much  trouble;  that  Mrs.  Morrison  had  had 
no  relations,  though  she  possessed  a  large 
circle  of  admiring  friends  ;  that  none  of  the 
admiring  friends  had  called  since  her  death 
or  asked  about  the  children  ;  and  finally,  that 
Number  3  had  been  turned  into  a  saloon,  and 
she  was  welcome  to  go  in  and  slake  her  thirst 
for  information  with  something  more  satis- 
factory than  she  could  get  outside. 

The  last  straw,  and  one  that  would  have 
broken  the  back  of  any  self-respecting  (un- 
married) camel  in  the  universe,  was  the  of- 
fensive belief,  on  the  part  of  the  Minerva 
Courtiers,  that  the  rigid  Puritan  maiden  who 
was  conducting  the  examination  was  the  err- 
ing mother  of  the  children,  visiting  in  dis- 
guise their  former  dwelling-place.  The  con- 
versation on  this  point  becoming  extremely 
pointed  and  jocose,  Miss  Cummins  finally 
turned  and  fled,  escaping  to  the  railway  sta- 
tion as  fast  as  her  trembling  legs  could  carry 
her.  So  the  trip  was  a  fruitless  one,  and  the 
mystery  that  enshrouded  Timothy  and  Lady 
Gay  was  as  impenetrable  as  ever. 

"  I  wish  I  'd  'a'  gone  to  the  city  with  you," 


172  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

remarked  Samantha.  "  Not  that  I  could  'a' 
found  out  anything  more  'n  you  did,  for  I 
guess  there  ain't  anybody  thereabouts  that 
knows  more  'n  we  do,  and  anybody  't  wants 
the  children  won't  be  troubled  with  the  rela- 
tion. But  I  'd  like  to  give  them  bold-faced 
jigs  'n'  hussies  a  good  piece  o'  my  mind  for 
once  !  You  're  too  timersome,  Vildy !  I 
b'lieve  I  '11  go  some  o'  these  days  yet,  and 
carry  a  good  stout  umbrella  in  my  hand  too. 
It  says  in  a  book  somewhars  that  there  's 
insults  that  can  only  be  wiped  out  in  blood. 
Ketch  'em  hintin'  that  I  'm  the  mother  of 
anybody,  that 's  all !  I  declare  I  don'  know 
what  our  Home  Missionary  Societies  's  doin' 
not  to  regenerate  them  places  or  exterminate 
'em,  one  or  t'  other.  Somehow  our  religion 
don't  take  holt  as  it  ought  to.  It  takes  a 
burnin'  zeal  to  clean  out  them  slum  places, 
and  burnin'  zeal  ain't  the  style  nowadays. 
As  my  father  used  to  say,  '  Religion  's  putty 
much  like  fish  'n'  pertetters  ;  if  it  's  hot,  it 's 
good,  'n'  if  it 's  cold  't  ain't  wuth  a  '  —  well,  a 
short  word  come  in  there,  but  I  won't  say  it. 
Speakin'  o'  religion,  I  never  had  any  experi- 
ence in  teach  in',  but  I  did  n't  s'pose  there 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  173 

was  any  knack  'bout  teachin'  religion,  same 
as  there  is  'bout  teachin'  readin'  'n'  'rithme- 
tic,  but  I  hed  hard  work  makin'  Timothy- 
understand  that  catechism  you  give  him  to 
learn  the  other  Sunday.  He  was  all  upsot 
with  doctrine  when  he  come  to  say  his  lesson. 
Now  you  can't  scare  some  children  with  doc- 
trine, no  matter  how  hot  you  make  it,  or 
mebbe  they  don't  more  'n  half  believe  it ;  but 
Timothy 's  an  awful  sensitive  creeter,  'n' 
when  he  come  to  that  answer  to  the  question 
'  What  are  you  then  by  nature  ?  An  enemy 
to  God,  a  child  of  Satan,  and  an  heir  of  hell,' 
he  hid  his  head  on  my  shoulder  and  bust 
right  out  cryin'.  '  How  many  Gods  is  there  ? ' 
s'  'e,  after  a  spell.  '  Land  !  '  thinks  I,  '  I  knew 
he  was  a  heathen,  but  if  he  turns  out  to  be 
an  idolater,  whatever  shall  I  do  with  him  ! ' 
'  Why,  where  've  you  be'n  fetched  up  ? '  s'  I ; 
there's  only  one  God,  the  High  and  Mighty 
Ruler  of  the  Univarse,'  s'  I.  '  Well,'  s'  'e, 
'there  must  be  more  'n  one,  for  the  God  in 
this  lesson  is  n't  like  the  one  in  Miss  Dora's 
book  at  all ! '  Land  sakes  !  I  don't  want  to 
teach  catechism  agin  in  a  hurry,  not  till  I  've 
hed  a  little   spiritual    instruction    from    the 


174  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

minister.  The  fact  is,  Vildy,  that  our  b'liefs, 
when  they  're  picked  out  o'  the  Bible  and  set 
down  square  and  solid  'thout  any  softening 
down  'n'  explainin'  that  they  ain't  so  bad  as 
they  sound,  is  too  strong  meat  for  babes. 
Now  I'm  Orthodox  to  the  core"  (here  she 
lowered  her  voice  as  if  there  might  be  a  stray 
deacon  in  the  garden),  "but  'pears  to  me  if 
I  was  makin'  out  lessons  for  young  ones  I 
would  n't  fill  'em  so  plumb  full  o'  brimstun. 
Let  'em  do  a  little  suthin'  to  deserve  it  'fore 
you  scare  'em  to  death,  say  I." 

"  Jabe  explained  it  all  out  to  him  after  sup- 
per. It  beats  all  how  he  gets  on  with  chil- 
dren." 

"  I  'd  ruther  hear  how  he  explained  it," 
answered  Samantha  sarcastically.  "  He  's 
great  on  expoundin'  the  Scripters  jest  now. 
Well,  I  hope  it  '11  last.  Land  sakes  !  you  'd 
think  nobody  ever  experienced  religion  afore, 
he  's  so  set  up  'bout  it.  You  'd  s'pose  he 
kep'  the  latch-key  o'  the  heavenly  mansions 
right  in  his  vest  pocket,  to  hear  him  go  on. 
He  couldn't  be  no  more  stuck  up  'bout  it  if 
he  was  the  only  sinner  that  ever  repented. 
I  notice  he  took  plaguey  good   care  to  git 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  175 

converted  in  the  meetin'-housc  nearest  home. 
You  would  n't  ketch  him  travelin'  fur  for 
his  salvation." 

"There  goes  Elder  Nichols,"  said  Miss 
Vilda.  "  Now  there  's  a  plan  we  had  n't 
thought  of.  We  might  take  the  children 
over  to  Purity  Village.  I  think  likely  the 
Shakers  would  take  'em.  They  like  to  get 
young  folks  and  break  'em  in  to  their  doc- 
trines." 

"Tim'd  make  a  tip-top  Shaker,"  laughed 
Samantha.  "  He  'd  be  an  Elder  afore  he 
was  twenty-one.  I  can  seem  to  see  him  now, 
with  his  hair  danglin'  long  in  his  neck,  a  blue 
coat  buttoned  up  to  his  chin,  and  his  hands 
see-sawin'  up  'n'  down,  prancin'  round  in 
them  solemn  dances." 

"Tim  would  do  well  enough,  but  I  ain't 
so  sure  of  Gay.  They  'd  have  their  hands 
full  with  her,  I  guess  !  " 

"  I  guess  they  would.  Anybody  that 
wanted  to  make  a  Shaker  out  o'  her  would 
'a'  had  to  begin  with  her  grandmother ;  and 
that  would  n't  sa'  done  nuther,  for  they  don't 
b'lieve  in  marryin',  and  the  thing  would  'a' 
stopped  right  there,  and  Gay  would  n't  never 
'a'  been  born  int'  the  world." 


176  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"And  been  a  great  sight  better  off,"  in- 
terpolated Miss  Vilda. 

"Now  don't  talk  that  way,  Vildy.  Who 
knows  what  lays  ahead  o'  that  child  ?  The 
Lord  may  be  savin'  her  up  to  do  some  great 
work  for  Him,"  she  added,  with  a  wild  flight 
of  the  imagination. 

"  She  looks  like  it,  don't  she  ? "  asked 
Vilda  with  a  grim  intonation  ;  but  her  face 
softened  a  little  as  she  glanced  at  Gay  asleep 
on  the  rustic  bench  under  the  window. 

The  picture  would  have  struck  terror  to 
the  sad-eyed  aesthete,  but  an  artist  who  liked 
to  see  colors  burn  and  glow  on  the  canvas 
would  have  been  glad  to  paint  her ;  a  little 
frock  of  buttercup  calico,  bare  dimpled  neck 
and  arms,  hair  that  put  the  yellow  calico  to 
shame  by  reason  of  its  tinge  of  copper,  skin 
of  roses  and  milk  that  dared  the  microscope, 
red  smiling  lips,  one  stocking  and  ankle-tie 
kicked  off  and  five  pink  toes  calling  for  some 
silly  woman  to  say  "  This  little  pig  went  to 
market ; "  a  great  bunch  of  nasturtiums  in 
one  warm  hand,  the  other  buried  in  Rags, 
who  was  bursting  with  the  white  cat's  din- 
ner, and  in  such  a  state  of  snoring  bliss  that 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 


177 


his   tail    wagged    occasionally,    even    in    his 
dreams. 

"She  don't  look  like  a  missionary  at  this 
minute,  if  that 's  what  you  mean,"  said  Sa- 
mantha  hotly.  "  She  may  not  be  called  V 
elected  to  traipse  over  to  Africy  with  a  test'- 
ment  in  one  hand  'n' 
a  sun  umbreller  in 
the  other,  savin'  souls 
by  the  wholesale; 
but  't  ain't  no  mean 
service  to  go  through 
the  world  stealin' 
into  folks'  hearts  like 
a  ray  o'  sunshine,  'n'  lightin'  up  every  place 
you  step  foot  in  !  " 

"I  ain't  sayin'  anything  against  the  child, 
Samanthy  Ann  ;  you  said  yourself  she  wan't 
cut  out  for  a  Shaker  !  " 

"No  more  she  is,"  laughed  Samantha, 
when  her  good  humor  was  restored.  "  She  'd 
like  the  singin'  'n'  dancin'  well  enough,  but 
't  would  be  hard  work  smoothin'  the  kink 
out  of  her  hair  'n'  fixin'  it  under  one  o'  their 
white  Sunday  bunnets.  She  would  n't  like 
livin'  altogether  with  the  women-folks  nuther. 


Giiy  asleep 


i78  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

The  only  way  for  Gay  '11  be  to  fetch  her 
right  up  with  the  men-folks,  'n'  hev  her  see 
they  ain't  no  great  things,  anyway.  Land 
sakes !  if  't  warn't  for  clogs  'n'  dark  nights, 
I  should  n't  care  if  I  never  see  a  man ;  but 
Gay  has  'em  all  on  her  string  a'ready,  from 
the  boy  that  brings  the  cows  home  for  Jabe 
to  the  man  that  takes  the  butter  to  the  city. 
The  tin  peddler  give  her  a  dipper  this  morn- 
in',  and  the  fish-man  brought  her  a  live  fish 
in  a  tin  pail.  Well,  she  makes  the  house  a 
great  sight  brighter  to  live  in,  you  can't  deny 
that,  Vildy." 

"  I  ain't  denyin'  anything  in  partic'ler. 
She  makes  a  good  deal  of  work,  I  know  that 
much.  And  I  don't  want  you  to  get  your 
heart  set  on  one  or  both  of  'em,  for  't  won't 
be  no  use.  We  could  make  out  with  one  of 
'em,  I  suppose,  if  we  had  to,  but  two  is  one 
too  many.  They  seem  to  set  such  store 
by  one  another  that 't  would  be  like  partin' 
the  Siamese  twins ;  but  there,  they  'd  pine 
awhile,  and  then  they  'd  get  over  it.  Any- 
how, they  '11  have  to  try." 

"  Oh  yes  ;  you  can  git  over  the  small-pox, 
but  you  '11  carry  the  scars  to  your  grave  most 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  179 

likely.  I  think  't  would  be  a  sin  to  part  them 
children.  I  would  n't  do  it  no  more  'n  I  'd 
tear  away  that  scarlit  bean  that's  twisted 
itself  round  'n'  round  that  pink  hollyhock 
there.  I  stuck  a  stick  in  the  ground,  and 
carried  a  string  to  the  winder ;  but  I  did  n't 
git  at  it  soon  enough,  the  bean  vine  kep'  on 
growin'  the  other  way,  towards  the  hollyhock. 
Then  the  other  night  I  got  my  mad  up,  'n' 
I  jest  oncurled  it  by  main  force  'n'  wropped 
it  round  the  string,  'n'  if  you  '11  believe  me,  I 
happened  to  look  at  it  this  mornin',  'n'  there 
't  was,  as  nippant  as  you  please,  coiled  round 
the  hollyhock  agin  !  Then  says  I  to  myself, 
'  Samantha  Ann  Ripley,  you  've  known  what 
't  was  to  be  everlastin'ly  hectored  'n'  inter- 
fered with  all  your  life,  now  s'posin'  you  let 
that  bean  have  its  hollyhock,  if  it  wants 
it ! '" 

Miss  Vilda  looked  at  her  sharply  as  she 
said,  "  Samantha  Ann  Ripley,  I  believe  to 
my  soul  you  're  fussin'  'bout  Dave  Milliken 
again." 

"  Well,  I  ain't !  Every  time  I  talk  'bout 
hollyhocks  and  scarlit  beans  I  ain't  meanin' 
Dave  Milliken  'n'  me,  —  not  by  a  long  chalk  ! 


i8o  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

I  was  only  givin'  you  my  views  'bout  partin' 
them  children,  that  's  all !  " 

"Well,  all  I  can  say  is,"  remarked  Miss 
Vilda  obstinately,  "that  those  that 's  desirous 
of  takin'  in  two  strange  children,  and  board- 
in'  and  lodgin'  'em  till  they  get  able  to  do  it 
for  themselves,  and  runnin'  the  resk  of  their 
turnin'  out  heathens  and  malefactors  like  the 
folks  they  came  from,  — can  do  it  if  they  want 
to.  If  I  come  to  see  that  the  baby  is  too 
young  to  send  away  anywheres  I  may  keep 
her  a  spell,  but  the  boy  has  got  to  go,  and 
that 's  the  end  of  it.  You  've  been  crowdin' 
me  into  a  corner  about  him  for  a  week,  and 
now  I  've  said  my  say  !  " 

Alas  !  that  tiny  humming-bird's  egg  was 
crushed  to  atoms, —  crushed  by  a  boy's  slen- 
der hand  that  had  held  it  so  gently  for  very 
fear  of  breaking  it.  Poor  little  Timothy  Jes- 
sup  had  heard  his  fate  for  the  second  time, 
and  knew  that  he  must  "move  on"  again, 
for  there  was  no  room  for  him  at  the  White 
Farm. 


SCENE   XII 

THE   VILLAGE 
Lyddy  Pettigrove's  Funeral 


YDDY       PETTIGROVE, 

David     Milliken's      sister, 
a   was  dead.    Not  one  person, 

but  a  dozen  had  called  in 

at  the  White  Farm  to  announce  this 
fact  and  look  curiously  at  Samantha 
Ann  Ripley  to  see  how  she  took  the 
news. 

To  say  the  truth,  the  community 
did  not  seem  to  be  overpowered  by  its  be- 
reavement. There  seemed  to  be  a  general 
feeling  that  Mrs.  Pettigrove  had  never  been 
wanted  in  Pleasant  River,  coupled  with  a 
mild  surprise  that  she  should  have  been 
welcome  anywhere  else,  even  in  heaven, 
where  she  must  have  gone,  being  a  church 
member.  Speculation  was  rife  as  to  who 
would  keep  house  for  Dave  Milliken,  and 
whether  Samantha  Ann  would  bury  the 
Ripley  -  Milliken  battle-axe  and  go  to  the 
funeral,  and  whether  Mrs.  Pettigrove  had 
left  her  property  to  David,  as  was  right,  or 


i84  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

to  her  husband's  sister  in  New  Hampshire, 
"which  would  be  a  sin  and  a  shame,  but 
jest  as  likely  as  not,  though  she  was  well  off 
and  did  n't  need  it  no  more  'n  a  toad  would  a 
pocket-book,  and  could  n't  bear  the  sight  o' 
Lyddy  besides," — and  whether  Mr.  Petti- 
grove's  first  wife's  relations  would  be  asked 
to  the  funeral,  "bein'  as  how  they  hadn't 
spoke  for  years,  'n'  would  n't  set  on  the  same 
side  the  meetin'-house,  but  when  you  come 
to  that,  if  only  the  folks  that  was  on  good 
terms  with  Lyddy  Pettigrove  was  asked  to 
the  funeral,  there  'd  be  a  slim  attendance," 
and —  so  on. 

Aunt  Hitty  was  the  most  important  per- 
son in  the  village  on  these  occasions.  It 
was  she  who  assisted  in  the  last  solemn  prep- 
arations and  took  the  last  solemn  stitches. 
When  all  was  done,  she  hung  her  little 
reticule  on  her  arm,  and  started  to  walk 
from  the  house  of  bereavement  to  her  own 
home,  where  "Si"  was  anxiously  awaiting 
his  nightly  draught  of  gossip.  No  royal  her- 
ald could  have  been  looked  for  with  greater 
interest  or  greeted  with  greater  cordiality. 
All  the  housewives  that  lived  on  the  direct 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  185 

road  were  on  their  doorsteps,  so  as  not  to 
lose  a  moment,  and  all  that  lived  off  the  road 
had  seen  her  from  the  upstairs  windows,  and 
were  at  the  gate  to  waylay  her  as  she  passed. 
At  such  a  moment  Aunt  Hitty's  bosom 
swelled  with  honest  pride,  and  she  humbly 
thanked  her  Maker  that  she  had  been  bred 
to  the  use  of  scissors  and  needle. 

Two  days  of  this  intoxicating  popularity 
had  just  past ;  the  funeral  was  over,  and  she 
ran  in  to  the  White  Farm  on  her  way  home, 
to  carry  a  message  and  to  see  with  her  own 
eyes  how  Samantha  Ann  Ripley  was  com- 
porting herself. 

"You  didn't  git  out  to  the  fun'ral,  did  ye, 
Samanthy  ? "  she  asked,  as  she  seated  her- 
self cosily  by  the  kitchen  window. 

"  No,  I  did  n't.  I  never  could  see  the 
propriety  o'  goin'  to  see  folks  dead  that  you 
never  went  to  see  alive." 

"  How  you  talk  !  That 's  one  way  o'  put- 
tin'  it !  Well,  everybody  was  lookin'  for 
you,  and  you  missed  a  very  pleasant  fun'ral. 
David  'n'  I  arranged  everything  as  neat 
as  wax,  and  it  all  went  off  like  clockwork,  if 
I  do  say  so  as  should  n't.  Mis  Pettigrove 
made  a  beautiful  remains." 


Elder  Weeks 


186  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

"  I  'm  glad  to  hear  it.  It 's  the  first  beau- 
tiful thing  she  ever  did  make,  I  guess  !  " 

"  How  you  talk  !  Ain't  you  a  leetle  hard 
on  Lyddy,  Samanthy  ?  She  warn't  sech  a 
bad  neighbor,  and  she  could  n't  help  bein' 
kind  o'  sour  like.  She  was  born  with  her 
teeth  on  aidge,  to  begin  with,  and  then  she  'd 
be'n  through  seas  o'  trouble  with  them  Petti- 
groves." 

"  Like  enough  ;  but  even  if  folks  has  be'n 
through  seas  o'  trouble,  they  need  n't 
be  everlastin'ly  spittin'  up  salt  brine. 
'  Passin'  through  the  valley  of  sorrow 
they  make  it  full  o'  fountings  ; '  that 's 
what  the  Psalms  says  'bout  bearin' 
trouble." 

"  Lyddy  warn't  much  on  fountings," 
said  Aunt  Hitty  contemplatively  ; 
"  but  there,  we  had  n't  ought  to  speak 
nothin'  but  good  o'  the  dead.  Land 
sakes  !  You  'd  oughter  heard  Elder 
Weekses  remarks  ;  they  was  splendid. 
We  ain't  hed  better  remarks  to  any  fun'ral 
here  for  years.  I  should  n't  'a'  suspicioned 
he  was  preachin'  'bout  Lyddy,  though.  Our 
minister  's  sick  abed,  you  know,    'n'  warn't 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  1S7 

able  to  conduct  the  ex'cises.  Si  thinks  he 
went  to  bed  a-purpose,  but  I  would  n't  hev 
it  repeated  ;  so  David  got  Elder  Weeks  from 
Moderation.  He  warn't  much  acquainted 
with  the  remains,  but  he  done  all  the  better 
for  that.  He's  got  a  wond'ful  faculty  for 
fun'rals.  They  say  he  's  sent  for  for  miles 
around.  He  'd  just  come  from  a  fun'ral 
nine  miles  the  other  side  o'  Moderation,  up 
on  the  Blueb'ry  road  ;  so  he  was  a  leetle 
mite  late,  'n'  David  'n'  I  was  as  nervous  as 
witches,  for  every  room  was  cram  full  'n'  the 
thermometer  stood  at  87  in  the  front  entry, 
'n'  the  bearers  sot  out  there  by  the  well- 
curb,  with  the  sun  beatin'  clown  on  'em,  'n' 
two  of  'em,  Squire  Hicks  'n'  Deacon  Dunn, 
was  fast  asleep.  Inside,  everything  was  as 
silent  's  the  tomb,  'cept  the  kitchen  clock, 
'n'  that  ticked  loud  enough  to  wake  the 
dead  most.  I  thought  I  should  go  inter 
conniptions.  I  set  out  to  git  up  'n'  throw  a 
shawl  over  it,  it  ticked  so  loud.  Then,  while 
we  was  all  settin'  there  's  solemn  's  the  last 
tr,ump,  what  does  old  Aunt  Beccy  Burnham 
do  but  git  up  from  the  kitchen  corner  where 
she  sot,  take  the  corn-broom  from  behind  the 


iSS  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

door,  and  sweep  down  a  cobweb  that  was 
lodged  up  in  one  o'  the  corners  over  the  man- 
telpiece !  We  all  looked  at  one  'nother,  'n' 
I  thought  for  a  second  somebody 'd  laugh, 
but  nobody  dassed,  'n'  there  warn't  a  sound 
in  the  room  's  Aunt  Beccy  sot  down  agin' 
without  movin'  a  muscle  in  her  face.  Just 
then  the  minister  drove  in  the  yard  with  his 
horse  sweatin'  like  rain  ;  but  behind  time  as 
he  was,  he  never  slighted  things  a  mite.  His 
prayer  was  twenty-three  minutes  by  the 
clock.  Twenty  -  three  minutes  is  a  leetle 
mite  too  long  this  kind  o'  weather,  but  it 
was  an  all-em bracin'  prayer,  'n'  no  mistake  ! 
Si  said  when  he  got  through,  the  Lord  had 
his  instructions  on  most  any  p'int  that  was 
likely  to  come  up  durin'  the  season.  When 
he  got  through  his  remarks  there  warn't  a 
dry  eye  in  the  room.  I  don't  s'pose  it  made 
any  odds  whether  he  was  preachin'  'bout 
Mis  Pettigrove  or  the  woman  on  the  Blueb'ry 
road,  —  it  was  a  movin',  elevatin'  discourse, 
'n'  that  was  what  we  went  there  for." 

"  It  would  n't  'a'  be'n  so  elevatin'  if  he  'd 
told  the  truth,"  said  Samantha ;  "but  there, 
I     ain't    goin'    to    spit     no   more   spite  out. 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  1S9 

Lyddy  Pettigrove  's  dead,  'n'  I  hope  she  's  in 
heaven,  and  all  I  can  say  is,  that  she'll  be 
dretful  busy  up  there  ondoin'  all  she  done 
down  here.  You  say  there  was  a  good  many 
out  ? " 

"Yes  ;  we  ain't  hed  so  many  out  for  years, 
so  Susanna  Rideout  says,  and  she  'd  ought  to 
know,  for  she  ain't  missed  a  fun'ral  sence 
she  was  nine  years  old,  and  she  's  eighty-one, 
come  Thanksgivin',  ef  she  holds  out  that 
long.  She  says  fun'rals  is  'bout  the  only 
recreation  she  has,  'n'  she  doos  git  a  heap 
o'  satisfaction  out  of  'em,  'n'  no  mistake. 
She  '11  go  early,  afore  any  0'  the  comp'ny 
assembles.  She  '11  say  her  clock  must  'a' 
be'n  fast,  'n'  then  they  '11  ask  her  to  set 
down  'n'  make  herself  to  home.  Then  she'll 
choose  her  seat  accordin'  to  the  way  the 
house  is  planned.  She  won't  git  too  fur 
from  the  remains,  because  she  '11  want  to  see 
how  the  fam'ly  appear  when  they  take  their 
last  look,  but  she  '11  want  to  git  opp'site  a 
door,  where  she  can  peek  into  the  other 
rooms  'n'  see  whether  they  shed  any  tears 
when  the  minister  begins  his  remarks.  She 
allers  takes  a  little   gum    camphire   in   her 


190  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

pocket,  so  't  if  anybody  faints  away  during 
the  long  prayer  she  's  right  on  hand.  Bein' 
near  the  door,  she  can  hear  all  the  minister 
says,  'n'  how  the  order  o'  the  mourners  is 
called,  'n'  ef  she  ain't  too  fur  from  the  front 
winders  she  can  hev  a  good  view  of  the  bear- 
ers and  the  mourners  as  they  get  into  the 
kerridges.  There  's  a  sight  in  knowin'  how 
to  manage  at  a  fun'ral ;  it  takes  faculty,  same 
as  anything  else." 

"  How  does  David  bear  up  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Vilda. 

"  Oh,  he  's  calm.  David  was  always  calm 
and  resigned,  you  know.  He  shed  tears 
durin'  the  remarks,  but  I  s'pose,  mebbe, 
he  was  wishin'  they  was  more  appropriate. 
He  's  about  the  forlornest  creeter  now  you 
ever  see  in  your  life.  There  never  was  any 
self -assume  to  David  Milliken.  I  declare 
it  's  enough  to  make  you  cry  jest  to  look  at 
him.  I  cooked  up  victuals  enough  to  last 
him  a  week,  but  that  ain't  no  way  for  men- 
folks  to  live.  When  he  comes  in  at  noon- 
time he  washes  up  out  by  the  pump,  'n'  then 
he  steps  int'  the  butt'ry  'n'  pours  some  cold 
tea  out  the  teapot  'n'  takes  a  drink  of  it,  'n' 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  191 

then  a  bite  o'  cold  punkin-pie  'n'  then  more 
tea,  all  the  time  stan'in'  up  to  the  shelf  'sticl 
o'  sittin'  clown  like  a  Christian,  —  and  lookin' 
out  the  winder  as  if  his  mind  was  in  Hard 
Scrabble  'n'  his  body  in  Buttertown,  'n'  as  if 
he  did  n't  know  whether   he  was  eatin'  pie 


1 

"  The  tears  that  blinded  her  eyes  " 

or  putty.  Land  !  I  can't  bear  to  watch  him. 
I  dassay  he  misses  Lyddy's  jawin';  it  must 
seem  dretful  quiet.  I  declare  it  seems  to 
me  that  meek,  resigned  folks,  that  's  too 
good  to  squeal  out  when  they  're  abused,  is 
allers  the  ones  that  gits  the  hardest  knocks  ; 
but  I  don't  doubt  but  what  there  's  goin'  to 
be  an  everlastin'  evenupness  somewheres." 


192  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

Samantha  got  up  suddenly  and  went  to  the 
sink  window.  "It  's  'bout  time  the  men 
come  in  for  their  dinner,"  she  said  ;  and  al- 
though Jabe  was  mowing  the  millstone  hill, 
in  a  flaming  red  flannel  shirt,  she  could  not 
see  him  because  of  the  tears  that  blinded  her 
eyes. 


"-**-/ 


SCENE   XIII 

THE    VILLAGE 


Pleasant  River  is  baptised  with  the  Spirit  of 
Adoption 


UT  I  did  n't  come  in  to  talk 

'bout  the  fun'ral,"  continued 

Aunt    Hitty,    wishing  that 

J   human  flesh  were  transpar- 


^~"  ent  so  that  she  could  see  through 
Samanthy  Ann  Ripley's  back.  "  I 
had  an  errant  'n'  oughter  be'n  in  afore, 
but  I  've  been  so  busy  these  last  few  days  I 
could  n't  find  rest  for  the  sole  o'  my  foot 
skersely.  I  've  sewed  in  seven  dif'rent 
houses  sence  I  was  here  last,  and  I  've  made 
it  my  biz'ness  to  try  'n'  stop  the  gossip  'bout 
them  children  'n'  give  folks  the  rights  o'  the 
matter,  'n'  git  'em  int'rested  to  do  somethin' 
for  'em.  Now  there  ain't  a  livin'  soul  that 
wants  the  boy,  but  "  — 

"  Timothy,"  said  Miss  Vilda  hurriedly, 
"run  and  fetch  me  a  passle  of  chips,  that 's 
a  good  boy.  Land  sakes,  Aunt  Hitty,  you 
need  n't  tell  him  to  his  face  that  nobody 
wants  him.  He  's  got  feelin's  like  any  other 
child." 


196  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"  He  set  there  so  quiet  with  a  book  in  front 
of  him  I  clean  forgot  he  was  in  the  room," 
said  Aunt  Hitty  apologetically.  "  Land ! 
I  'm  so  tender-hearted  I  can't  set  my  foot  on 
a  June  bug,  'n'  't  ain't  likely  I  'd  hurt  any- 
body's feelin's,  but  as  I  was  sayin'  I  can't 
find  nobody  that  wants  the  boy,  but  the  Doc- 
tor's wife  thinks  p'raps  she  '11  be  willin'  to 
take  the  baby  'n'  board  her  for  nothin',  if 
somebody  else  '11  pay  for  her  clothes.  At 
least  she  '11  try  her  a  spell  'n'  see  how  she 
behaves,  'n'  whether  she  's  good  comp'ny  for 
her  own  little  girl  that  's  a  reg'lar  limb  o' 
Satan  anyway,  'n'  consid'able  worse  sence 
she  's  had  the  scarlit  fever,  'n'  deef  as  a  post 
too,  tho'  they  're  blisterin'  her,  'n'  she  may 
git  over  it.  I  told  her  I  'd  bring  Gay  over 
to-night  as  I  was  comin'  by,  bein'  as  how  she 
was  worn  out  with  sickness  'n'  house-cleanin' 
'n'  one  thing  'n'  'nother,  'n'  could  n't  come  to 
git  her  very  well  herself.  I  thought  mebbe 
you  'd  be  willin'  to  pay  for  her  clothes  ruther 
'n  hev  so  much  talk  'bout  it,  tho'  I  've  told 
everybody  that  they  walked  right  in  to  the 
front  gate,  'n'  you  'n'  Samanthy  never  set 
eyes  on  'em  before,  'n'  did  n't  know  where 
they  come  from." 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  197 

Samantha  wiped  her  eyes  surreptitiously 
with  the  dishcloth  and  turned  a  scarlet  face 
away  from  the  window.  Timothy  was  get- 
ting his  "  passle  of  chips."  Gay  had  spied 
him,  and  toddling  over  to  his  side,  holding 
her  dress  above  the  prettiest  pair  of  feet  that 
ever  trod  clover,  had  sat  down  on  him  (a 
favorite  pastime  of  hers),  and  after  jolting 
her  fat  little  person  up  and  down  on  his  pa- 
tient head,  rolled  herself  over  and  gave  him 
a  series  of  bear-hugs.  Timothy  looked  pale 
and  languid,  Samantha  thought,  and  though 
Gay  waited  for  a  frolic  with  her  most  ador- 
able smile,  he  only  lifted  her  coral  necklace 
to  kiss  the  place  where  it  hung,  and  tied  on 
her  sun-bonnet  soberly.  Samantha  wished 
that  Vilda  had  been  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow. Her  own  heart  did  not  need  softening, 
but  somebody  else's  did,  she  was  afraid. 

"  I  'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  takin'  so 
much  interest  in  the  children,"  said  Miss 
Vilda  primly,  "and  partic'lerly  for  clearin' 
our  characters,  which  everybody  that  lives 
in  this  village  has  to  do  for  each  other  'bout 
once  a  week,  and  the  rest  o'  the  time  they 
take  for  spoilin'  of  'em.     And  the  Doctor's 


198  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

wife  is  very  kind,  but  I  should  n't  think  0' 
sendin'  the  baby  away  so  sudden  while  the 
boy  is  still  here.  It  would  n't  be  no  kindness 
to  Mrs.  Mayo,  for  she  'd  have  a  reg'lar  French 
and  Indian  war  right  on  her  premises.  It 
was  here  the  children  came,  just  as  you  say, 
and  it 's  our  duty  to  see  'em  settled  in  good 
homes,  but  I  shall  take  a  few  days  more  to 
think  'bout  it,  and  I  '11  let  her  know  by  Sat- 
urday night  what  we  've  decided  to  do.  — 
That 's  the  most  meddlesome,  interferin', 
gossipin'  woman  in  this  county,"  she  added, 
as  Mrs.  Silas  Tarbox  closed  the  front  gate, 
"and  I  would  n't  have  her  do  another  day's 
work  at  this  house  if  I  did  n't  have  to.  But 
it 's  worse  for  them  that  don't  have  her  than 
for  them  that  does.  — Now  there  's  the  Bap- 
tist minister  drivin'  up  to  the  barn.  What 
under  the  canopy  does  he  want  ?  Tell  him 
Jabe  ain't  to  home,  Samanthy.  No,  you 
needn't,  for  he's  hitched,  and  seems  to  be 
comin'  to  the  front  door." 

"  I  never  could  abide  the  looks  of  him," 
said  Samantha,  peering  over  Miss  Vilda's 
shoulder.  "'T  ain't  his  doctrines  I  object  to 
so  much,  though  bein'  a  good  Congregation- 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  199 

alist  I  don't  see  no  sense  in  'em,  but  a  man 
with  a  light  chiny  blue  eye  like  that  ought 
not  to  be  allowed  to  go  int'  the  ministry. 
You  can't  love  your  brother  whom  you  hev 
seen  with  that  kind  of  an  eye,  and  how  are 
you  goin'  to  love  the  Lord  whom  you  hev  not 
seen  ? " 

Mr.  Southwick,  who  was  a  spare  man  in 
a  long  linen  duster  that  looked  as  if  it  had 
not  been  in  the  water  as  often  as  its  wearer, 
sat  down  timidly  on  the  settle  and  cleared 
his  throat. 

"  I  've  come  to  talk  with  you  on  a  little 
matter  of  business,  Miss  Cummins.  Brother 
Slocum  has  —  a — conferred  with  me  on  the 
subject  of  a  —  a  —  couple  of  unfortunate 
children  who  have  —  a  —  strayed,  as  it  were, 
under  your  hospitable  roof,  and  whom  —  a  — 
you  are  properly  anxious  to  place  —  a  —  un- 
der other  rooves,  as  it  were.  Now  you  are 
aware,  perhaps,  that  Mrs.  Southwick  and  I 
have  no  children  living,  though  we  have  at 
times  had  our  quivers  full  of  them  —  a  —  as 
the  Scripture  says,  but  the  Lord  gave  and 
the  Lord  hath  taken  away,  blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  Lord;  however,  that  is  —  a  — 


200  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

neither  here  nor  there.  Brother  Slocum  has 
so  interested  us  that  my  wife  (who  is  leading 
the  Woman's  Auxiliary  Praying  Legion  this 
afternoon  or  she  would  have  come  herself) 
wishes  me  to  say  that  she  would  like  to  re- 
ceive one  of  these  —  a — little  waifs  into  our 
family  on  probation,  as  it  were,  and  if  satis- 
factory to  both  parties,  to  bring  it  up  —  a  — 
somewhat  as  our  own,  in  the  nurture  and 
admonition  of  the  Lord." 

Samantha  waited  in  breathless  suspense. 
Miss  Vilda  never  would  fling  away  an  oppor- 
tunity of  putting  a  nameless,  homeless  child 
under  the  roof  of  a  minister  of  the  Gospel, 
even  if  he  was  a  Baptist  with  a  chiny  blue 
eye.  At  this  exciting  juncture  there  was  a 
clatter  of  small  feet  ;  the  door  burst  open,  and 
the  "  unfortunate  waifs  "  under  considera- 
tion raced  across  the  floor  to  the  table  where 
Miss  Vilda  and  Samantha  were  seated. 
Gay's  sun-bonnet  trailed  behind  her,  every 
hair  on  her  head  curled  separately,  and  she 
held  her  rag-doll  upside  down  with  entire 
absence  of  decorum.  Timothy's  paleness, 
whatever  the  cause,  had  disappeared  for  the 
moment,  and  his  eyes  shone  like  stars. 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  201 

"Oh,  Miss  Vilda !  "  he  cried  breathlessly  ; 
"dear  Miss  Vilda  and  Samanthy,  the  gray  hen 
did  want  to  have  chickens,  and  that  is  what 
made    her  so    cross, 
and    she    is    setting, 
and  we  've  found  her 
nest     in     the     alder 
bushes  by  the  pond ! " 

("  Gay  hen's  net  in 
er  buttes  by  er  pond," 
sung  Gay,  like  a 
Greek  chorus.) 

"  And  we  sat  down 
softly  beside  the 
pond,  but  Gay  sat 
into  it." 

("Gay  sat  wite  into  it,  an'  dolly  dot  her  dess 
wet,  but  Gay  nite  ittle  dirl  ;  Gay  didn  't  det 
wet !  ") 

"And  by  and  by  the  gray  hen  got  off  to 
get  a  drink  of  water"  — 

("  To  det  a  clink  o'  water  "  — ) 

"  And  we  counted  the  eggs,  and  there 
were  thirteen  big  ones  !  " 

("  Fir-teen  drate  bid  ones  !  ") 

"  So  that  the  darling  thing  had  to  s-w-ell 
out  to  cover  them  up  !  " 


We  ''ve  found  her  nest " 


202  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

("  Darlin'  fin  ser-welled  out  an'  turveved 
'em  up  !  ")  said  Gay,  going  through  the  same 
operation. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Vilda,  looking  covertly 
at  Mr.  Southwick  (who  had  an  eye  for 
beauty,  notwithstanding  Samantha's  stric- 
tures), "  that 's  very  nice,  but  you  must  n't 
stay  here  now ;  we  are  talkin'  to  the  minister. 
Run  away,  both  of  you,  and  let  the  settin' 
hen  alone. —  Well,  as  I  was  goin'  to  say,  Mr. 
Southwick,  you  're  very  kind  and  so  's  your 
wife,  and  I  'm  sure  Timothy,  that 's  the  boy's 
name,  would  be  a  great  help  and  comfort  to 
both  of  you,  if  you  're  fond  of  children,  and 
we  should  be  glad  to  have  him  near  by,  for 
we  feel  kind  of  responsible  for  him,  though 
he  's  no  relation  of  ours.  And  we  '11  think 
about  the  matter  over  night,  and  let  you 
know  in  the  morning." 

"  Yes,  exactly,  I  see,  I  see  ;  but  it  was  the 
young  child,  the  —  a  —  female  child,  that  my 
wife  desired  to  take  into  her  family.  She 
does  not  care  for  boys,  and  she  is  particu- 
larly fond  of  girls,  and  so  am  I,  very  fond  of 
girls  —  a —  in  reason." 

Miss  Vilda  all  at  once  made  up  her  mind 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  203 

on  one  point,  and  only  wished  that  Samantha 
wouldn't  stare  at  her  as  if  she  had  never 
seen  her  before.  "  I  'm  sorry  to  disappoint 
your  wife,  Mr.  Southwick.  It  seems  that 
Mrs.  Tarbox  and  Jabez  Slocum  have  been 
offerin'  the  child  to  every  family  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  I  s'pose  bime  bye  they  '11  have  the 
politeness  to  offer  her  to  me  ;  but,  at  any 
rate,  whether  they  do  or  not,  I  propose  to 
keep  her  myself,  and  I  'd  thank  you  to  tell 
folks  so,  if  they  ask  you.  Mebbe  you  'd 
better  give  it  out  from  the  pulpit,  though  I 
can  let  Mrs.  Tarbox  know,  and  that  will  an- 
swer the  same  purpose.  This  is  the  place 
the  baby  was  brought,  and  this  is  the  place 
she  's  goin'  to  stay." 

"Vildy,  you're  a  good  woman!"  cried 
Samantha,  when  the  door  closed  on  the  Rev- 
erend Mr.  Southwick.  "  I  'm  proud  o'  you, 
Vildy,  'n'  I  take  back  all  the  hard  thoughts 
I  've  be'n  hevin'  about  you  lately.  The  idee 
o'  that  chiny-eyed  preacher  thinkin'  he  was 
goin'  to  carry  that  child  home  in  his  buggy 
with  hardly  so  much  as  sayin'  '  Thank  you, 
marm  ! '  I  like  his  imperdence  !  His  wife 
hed  better  wash  his  duster  afore  she  adopts 


204  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

any  children.  If  they  'd  carry  their  the- 
ories 'bout  immersion  's  fur  as  their  clo'es, 
't  would  n't  be  no  harm." 

"  You  need  n't  give  me  any  compliments. 
I  don'  know  as  I  'd  have  agreed  to  keep 
either  of  'em  ef  the  whole  village  hadn't  in- 
terfered and  wanted  to  manage  my  business 
for  me,  and  be  so  dretful  charitable  all  of  a 
sudden,  and  dictate  to  me  and  try  to  show 
me  my  duty.  I  have  n't  had  a  minute's 
peace  for  more  'n  a  fortnight,  and  now  I 
hope  they  '11  let  me  alone.  I  '11  take  the  boy 
to  the  city  to-morrow,  if  I  live  to  see  the 
light,  and  when  I  come  back  I  '11  tie  up  the 
gate  and  keep  the  neighbors  out  till  this  nine 
days'  wonder  gets  crowded  out  o'  their  heads 
by  somethin'  new." 

"  You  're  goin'  to  take  Timothy  to  the  city, 
are  you  ?  "  asked  Samantha  sharply. 

"That's  what  I'm  goin'  to  do;  and  the 
sooner  the  better  for  everybody  concerned. 
—  Timothy,  shut  that  door  and  run  out  to 
the  barn,  and  don't  you  let  me  see  you  again 
till  supper-time  ;  do  you  hear  me  ?  "  — 

"And  you're  goin'  to  put  him  in  one  o' 
them  Homes  ? " 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  205 

"  Yes,  I  am.  You  see  for  yourself  we 
can't  find  any  place  fer  him  hereabouts." 

"  Well,  I  've  be'n  waitin'  for  days  to  see 
what  you  was  goin'  to  do,  and  now  I  '11  tell 
you  what  I  'm  goin'  to  do,  if  you  'd  like  to 
know.  I  'm  goin'  to  keep  Timothy  myself  ; 
to  have  and  to  hold  from  this  time  forth  and 
for  evermore,  as  the  Bible  says.  That 's 
what  I  'm  goin'  to  do  !  " 

Miss  Cummins  gasped  with  astonishment. 

"  I  mean  what  I 
say,  Vildy.  I  ain't 
so  well  off  as  some, 
but  I  ain't  a  pauper, 
not  by  no  means. 
I  've  be'n  layin'  by  a 
little  every  year  for 
twenty  years,  'n'  you 
know    well    enough 

what  for ;  but  that 's  all  over  for  ever  and 
ever,  amen,  thanks  be  !  And  I  ain't  got 
chick  nor  child,  nor  blood  relation  in  the 
world,  and  if  I  choose  to  take  somebody  to 
do  for,  why,  it 's  nobody's  affairs  but  my 
own." 

"  You  can't  do  it,  and  you  shan't  do  it !  " 


Hard  to  melt 


206  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

said  Miss  Vilda  excitedly.  "You  ain't  goin' 
to  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  if  I  can  help  it. 
We  can't  have  two  children  clutterin'  up 
this  place  and  eatin'  us  out  of  house  and 
home,  and  that 's  the  end  of  it." 

"  It  ain't  the  end  of  it,  Vildy  Cummins, 
not  by  no  manner  o'  means !  If  we  can't 
keep  both  of  'em,  do  you  know  what  I  think 
'bout  it  ?  I  think  we  'd  ought  to  give  away 
the  one  that  everybody  wants  and  keep  the 
other  that  nobody  does  want,  more  fools 
they  !  That 's  religion,  accordin'  to  my  way 
o'  thinkin'.  I  love  the  baby,  dear  knows  ; 
but  see  here.  Who  planned'  this  thing  all 
out  ?  Timothy.  Who  took  that  baby  up  in 
his  own  arms  and  fetched  her  out  o'  that  den 
o'  thieves  ?  Timothy.  Who  stood  all  the 
resk  of  gittin'  that  innocent  lamb  out  o'  that 
sink  of  iniquity,  and  hed  wit  enough  to  bring 
her  to  a  place  where  she  could  grow  up  re- 
spectable ?  Timothy.  And  do  you  ketch 
him  sayin'  a  word  'bout  himself  from  fust  to 
last  ?  Not  by  no  manner  o'  means.  That 
ain't  Timothy.  And  what  doos  the  lovin' 
gen'rous,  faithful  little  soul  git  ?  He  gits 
his  labor  for  his  pains.     He  hears  folks  say 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  207 

right  to  his  face  that  nobody  wants  him  and 
everybody  wants  Gay.  And  if  he  did  n't 
have  a  disposition  like  a  cherubim-an-sera- 
phim  (and  better,  too,  for  they  '  continually 
do  cry,'  now  I  come  to  think  of  it),  he  'd  be 
sour  and  bitter  'stid  o'  bein'  good  as  an  angel 
in  a  picture-book  from  sun-up  to  sundown  ! " 

Miss  Vilda  was  crushed  by  the  overpower- 
ing weight  of  this  argument,  and  did  not  even 
try  to  stem  the  resistless  tide  of  Samantha's 
eloquence. 

"  And  now  folks  is  all  of  a  high  to  take  in 
the  baby  for  a  spell,  jest  for  a  plaything, 
because  her  hair  curls,  'n'  she  's  han'some, 
'n'  light  complected,  'n'  a  girl  (whatever  that 
amounts  to  is  more  'n  I  know  !),  and  that 
blessed  boy  is  trod  under  foot  as  if  he  warn't 
no  better  'n  an  angle-worm  !  And  do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  you  don't  see  the  Lord's 
hand  in  this  hull  bus'ness,  Vildy  Cummins  ? 
There's  other  kinds  o'  meracles  besides  bud- 
din'  rods  'n'  burnin'  bushes  'n'  loaves  'n' 
fishes.  What  do  you  s'pose  guided  that  boy 
to  pass  all  the  other  houses  in  this  village 
'n'  turn  in  at  the  White  Farm  ?  Don't  you 
s'pose  he  was  led  ?  Well,  I  don't  need  a  Bible 


2oS  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

nor  yit  a  concordance  to  tell  me  he  was.  He 
did  n't  know  there  was  plenty  'n'  to  spare 
inside  this  gate ;  a  great  empty  house  'n' 
full  cellar,  'n'  hay  'n'  stock  in  the  barn,  and 
cowpons  in  the  bank,  'n'  two  lone,  mis'- 
able  women  inside,  with  nothin'  to  do  but 
keep  flies  out  in  summer-time,  'n'  pile  wood 
on  in  winter-time,  till  they  got  so  withered 
up  'n'  gnarly  they  warn't  hardly  wuth  geth- 
erin'  int'  the  everlastin'  harvest  !  He  did  n't 
know  it,  I  say,  but  the  Lord  did ;  'n'  the 
Lord's  intention  was  to  give  us  a  chance  to 
make  our  callin'  'n'  election  sure,  'n'  we 
can't  do  that  by  turnin'  our  backs  on  His 
messenger,  and  puttin'  of  him  ou'doors  ! 
The  Lord  intended  them  children  should 
stay  together  or  He  would  n't  'a'  started  'em 
out  that  way ;  now  that 's  as  plain  as  the 
nose  on  my  face,  'n'  that 's  consid'able  plain 
as  I  've  be'n  told  afore  now,  'n'  can  see  for 
myself  in  the  glass  without  any  help  from 
anybody,  thanks  be!  " 

"  Everybody  '11  laugh  at  us  for  a  couple  o' 
soft-hearted  fools,"  said  Miss  Vilda  feebly, 
after  a  long  pause.  "  We  '11  be  a  spectacle 
for  the  whole  villaoe." 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"What  if  we  be?    Let's 

be    a    spectacle,    then  !  " 

said     Samantha     stoutly. 

We  '11  be  a  spectacle  for 


209 


A  Spectacle  for  A  ngeh 


the  angels  as  well  as  the      -^J^^Wa 


village,  when  you  come 
to  that  !  When  they  look 
down  'n'  see  us  gittin'  out- 
side this  door-yard  'n' 
doin'  one  o'  the  Lord's  chores  for  the  first 
time  in  ten  or  fifteen  years,  I  guess  they 
will  be  consid'able  excited!  But  there's  no 
use  in  talkin',  I  've  made  up  my  mind,  Vildy. 
We  've  lived  together  for  thirty  years  'n' 
ain't  hardly  hed  an  ugly  word,  'n'  dretful  dull 
it  hez  be'n  for  both  of  us,  'n'  I  shan't  live 
nowheres  else  without  you  tell  me  to  go  ;  but 
I  've  got  lots  o'  good  work  in  me  yit,  'n'  I  'm 
goin'  to  take  that  boy  up  'n'  give  him  a 
chance,  'n'  let  him  stay  alongside  o'  the  thing 
he  loves  best  in  the  world.  And  if  there 
ain't  room  for  all  of  us  in  the  fourteen  rooms 
o'  this  part  o'  the  house,  Timothy  'n'  I  can 
live  in  the  L,  as  you  've  allers  intended  I 
should  if  I  got  married.  And  I  guess  this 
is  'bout  as  near  to  gittin'  married  as  either 


2io  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

of  us  ever  '11  git  now,  'n'  consid'able  nearer 
'n'  I  've  expected  to  git,  lately.  And  I  '11 
tell  Timothy  this  very  night,  when  he  goes 
to  bed,  for  he's  grievin'  himself  into  a  fit  o' 
sickness,  as  anybody  can  tell  that 's  got  a 
glass  eye  in  their  heads  !  " 


SCENE   XIV 

A  POINT  OF  HONOR 


Timothy  Jessup  runs  away  a  Second  Time,  and,  like 
Oilier  Blessings,  brightens  as  He  takes  His  Flight 


^v 


1  was  almost  dusk, 
and  Jabe  Slocum  was 
struggling  with  the 
nightly  problem  of 
getting  the  cow  from 
the  pasture  without  any  ex- 
penditure of  personal  effort. 
Timothy  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  or  he 
would  go  and  be  glad  to  do  the  trifling  ser- 
vice for  his  kind  friend  without  other  remu- 
neration than  a  cordial  "  Thank  you."  Fail- 
ing Timothy,  there  was  always  Billy  Pennell, 
who  would  not  go  for  a  "Thank  you,"  being 
a  boy  of  a  sordid  and  miserly  manner  of 
thought,  but  who  would  go  for  a  cent  and 
chalk  the  cent  up,  which  made  it  a  more 
reasonable  charge  than  would  appear  to  the 
casual  observer.  So  Jabe  lighted  his  corn- 
cob pipe,  and  extended  himself  under  a  wil- 
low-tree beside  the  pond,  singing  in  a  cheerful 
fashion,  — 


214 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 


"  '  Tremblin'  sinner,  calm  your  fears  I 
Jesus  is  always  ready. 
Cease  your  sin  and  dry  your  tears, 
Jesus  is  always  ready  ! '  " 

"  And  dretful  lucky  for  you  He  is  ! "  mut- 
tered Samantha,  who  had  come  to  look  for 
Timothy.  "Jabe!  Jabe  !  Has  Timothy 
gone  for  the  cow  ?  " 

"Dunno.  Jest  what  I  was  goin'  to  ask 
you  when  I  got  roun'  to  it." 

"Well,  how  are  you  goin'  to  find  out  ? " 

"  Find    out  by  seein'  the   cow  if   he   hez 

gone,   an'    by  not 


seein'  no  cow  if  he 
hain't.  I  'm  com- 
f'table  either  way 
it  turns  out.  One 
o'  them  writin'  fel- 
lers that  was  up 
here  summerin' 
said,  'They  also  serve  who'd  ruther  stan'  'n' 
wait  "d  be  a  good  motto  for  me,  'n'  he 's 
about  right  when  I  've  be'n  hayin'.  Look 
down  there  at  the  shiners,  ain't  they  cool? 
Gorry !     I  wish  I  was  a  fish  !  " 

"  If  you  was  you  would  n't  wear  your  fins 
out,  that 's  certain  !  " 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  215 

"Come  now,  Samanthy,  don't  be  hard  on 
a  feller  after  his  day's  work.  Want  me  to 
git  up  'n'  blow  the  horn  for  the  boy  ? " 

"No,  thank  you,"  answered  Samantha 
cuttingly.  "  I  would  n't  ask  you  to  blow  out 
your  precious  breath  for  fear  you  'd  be  too 
lazy  to  draw  it  in  agin.  When  I  want  to 
get  anything  done  I  can  gen'ally  spunk  up 
sprawl  enough  to  do  it  myself,  thanks  be!'' 

"  Wall  now,  Samanthy,  you  cheat  the  men- 
folks  out  of  a  heap  o'  pleasure  bein'  so  all- 
fired  independent,  did  ye  know  it  ? 

"  '  Tremblin'  sinner,  calm  your  fears ! 
Jesus  is  always  ready.'  " 

"  When  'd  you  see  him  last  ?  " 

"I  hain't  seen  him  sence  'bout  noon-time. 
Warn't  he  in  to  supper?" 

"  No.  We  thought  he  was  off  with  you. 
Well,  I  guess  he  's  gone  for  the  cow,  but  I 
should  think  he 'd  be  hungry.  It's  kind  o' 
queer." 

Miss  Vilda  was  seated  at  the  open  window 
in  the  kitchen,  and  Lady  Gay  was  enthroned 
in  her  lap,  sleepy,  affectionate,  tractable, 
adorable. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  live  here  at  the 
White  Farm,  deary  ?  "  asked  Miss  Vilda. 


216  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

"  Oh,  yet.  I  yike  to  yive  here  if  Timfy 
doin'  to  yive  here  too.  I  yike  oo,  I  yike 
Samfy,  I  yike  Dabe,  I  yike  white  tat  V 
white  tow  'n'  white  bossy  'n'  my  boofely 
desses  'n  my  boofely  dolly  'n'  er  day  hen  'n' 
I  yikes  evelybuddy  !  " 

"  But  you  'd  stay  here  like  a  nice  little 
girl  if  Timothy  had  to  go  away,  would  n't 
you  ? " 

"  No,  I  won't  tay  like  nite  ittle  dirl  if 
Timfy  do  'way.  If  Timfy  do  'way,  I  do  too. 
I  's  Timfy's  dirl." 

"  But  you  're  too  little  to  go  away  with 
Timothy." 

"  Ven  I  ky  an'  keam  an'  kick  an'  hold  my 
bwef  —  I  s'ow  you  how  ! " 

"No,  you  needn't  show  me  how,"  said 
Vilda  hastily.  "  Who  do  you  love  best, 
deary,  Samanthy  or  me  ?  " 

"I  yuv  Timfy  bet.  Lemme  twy  rit-man- 
poor-man-bedder-man-fief  on  your  buckalins, 
pease." 

"  Then  you  '11  stay  here  and  be  my  little 
girl,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Yet,  I  tay  here  an'  be  Timfy's  ittle  dirl. 
Now  oo  p'ay   by  your  own  seff  ittle  while, 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  217 

Mit  Vilely,  pease,  coz  I  dot  to  dot  clown  an 
find  Samfy  an'  put  my  dolly  to  bed  coz  she  's 
defful  seepy." 

"  It 's  half  past  eight,"  said  Samantha 
coming  into  the  kitchen,  "  and  Timothy  ain't 
nowheres  to  be  found,  and  Jabe  hain't  seen 
him  sence  noon-time." 

"  You  need  n't  be  scared  for  fear  you  've 
lost  your  bargain,"  remarked  Miss  Vilda  sar- 
castically. "  There  ain't  so  many  places  open 
to  the  boy  that  he  '11  turn  his  back  on  this 
one,  I  guess  !  " 

Yet,  though  the  days  of  chiv- 
alry were  over,  that  was  precisely 
what  Timothy  Jessup  had  done. 

"  Wilkins'  Woods  "  was  a  quiet 
stretch  of  timber  land  that  lay 
along  the  banks  of  Pleasant 
River ;  and  though  the  natives, 
for  the  most  part,  would  never 
have  noticed  if  it  had  been  paved 
with  asphalt  and  roofed  in  with 
oil-cloth,  it  was,  nevertheless, 
the  most  tranquil  bit  of  loveli- 
ness in  all  the   country  round. 


2i8  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

For  there  the  river  twisted  and  turned  and 
sparkled  in  the  sun,  and  "bent  itself  in  grace- 
ful courtesies  of  farewell "  to  the  hills  it  was 
leaving  ;  and  kissed  the  velvet  meadows  that 
stooped  to  drink  from  its  brimming  cup ;  and 
lapped  the  trees  gently,  as  they 
hung  over  its  crystal  mirrors  the 
better  to  see  their  own  fresh  beauty. 
Here  it  wound  "about  and  in  and 
out,"  laughing  in  the  morning  sun- 
light, to  think  of  the  tiny  streamlet 
out  of  which  it  grew ;  paling  and 
shimmering  at  evening  when  it 
held  the  stars  and  moonbeams  in 
its  bosom  ;  and  trembling  in  the 
night  wind  to  think  of  the  great  unknown 
sea  into  whose  arms  it  was  hurrying. 

Here  was  a  quiet  pool  where  the  rushes 
bent  to  the  breeze  and  the  quail  dipped  her 
wing ;  there,  a  winding  path  where  the  cattle 
came  clown  to  the  edge,  and  having  looked 
upon  the  scene  and  found  it  all  very  good, 
dipped  their  sleek  heads  to  drink  and  drink 
and  drink  of  the  river's  nectar.  The  first 
pink  mayflowers  pushed  their  sweet  heads 
through  the  reluctant  earth  here,  and  there 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  219 

waxen  Indian  pipes  grew  in  the  moist  places, 
and  yellow  violets  hid  themselves  beneath 
their  modest  leaves, 

And  here  sat  Timothy,  with  his  heart  in 
his  eyes,  bidding  good-by  to  all  this  soft  and 
tender  loveliness  ;  by  his  side,  faithful  unto 
death  (but  very  much  in  hopes  of  something 
better),  sat  Rags,  who  thought  it  a  fine  enough 
prospect,  but  one  that  could  be  beaten  at  all 
points  by  a  bit  of  shed-view  he  knew  of, — 
a  superincumbent  hash-pan,  an  empty  milk- 
dish,  and  an  emaciated  white  cat  flying  round 
a  corner !  The  remembrance  of  these  past 
joys  brought  the  tears  to  his  eyes,  but  he 
forbore  to  let  them  flow  lest  he  should  add 
to  the  griefs  of  his  little  master,  which,  for 
aught  he  knew,  might  be  as  heavy  as  his 
own. 

Timothy  was  comporting  himself,  at  this 
trying  crisis,  neither  as  a  hero  nor  as  a  mar- 
tyr. There  is  no  need  of  exaggerating  his 
virtues.  Enough  to  say,  not  that  he  was  a 
hero,  but  that  he  had  in  him  the  stuff  out  of 
which  heroes  are  made.  Win  his  heart  and 
fire  his  imagination,  and  there  is  no  splendid 
deed  of  which  the  boy  would  not  have  been 


220  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

capable.  That  he  knew  precisely  what  he 
was  leaving  behind,  or  what  he  was  going 
forth  to  meet,  would  be  saying  too  much. 
One  thing  he  did  know  :  Miss  Vilda  had  said 
distinctly  that  two  was  one  too  many,  and 
that  he  was  the  objectionable  unit  referred 
to.  In  addition  to  this,  he  had  more  than 
once  heard  that  nobody  in  Pleasant  River 
wanted  him,  but  there  would  be  plenty  of 
homes  open  to  Gay  if  he  were  safely  out  of 
the  way.  A  little  allusion  to  a  Home,  which 
he  caught  when  he  was  just  bringing  in  a 
four-leaved  clover  to  show  to  Samantha,  com- 
pleted the  stock  of  ideas  from  which  he  rea- 
soned. He  was  very  clear  on  one  point  :  that 
he  would  never  be  taken  alive  and  put  in  a 
Home  with  a  capital  H.  He  respected 
Homes,  he  approved  of  them,  for  other  boys, 
but  personally  they  were  unpleasant  to  him, 
and  he  had  no  intention  of  dwelling  in  one 
if  he  could  help  it.  The  situation  did  not 
appear  utterly  hopeless  in  his  eyes.  He  had 
his  original  dollar  and  eighty-five  cents  in 
money  ;  Rags  and  he  had  supped  like  kings 
off  wild  blackberries  and  hard  gingerbread ; 
and,  more  than  all,  he  was  young  and  merci- 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  221 

fully  blind  to  everything  but  the  immediate 
present.  Yet,  even  in  taking  the  most  com- 
monplace possible  view  of  his  character,  it 
would  be  folly  to  affirm  that  he  was  anything 
but  unhappy.  His  soul  was  not  sustained 
by  the  consciousness  of  having  done  a  self- 
forgetting  and  manly  act ;  for  he  was  not  old 
enough  to  have  such  a  consciousness,  which 
is  something  the  good  God  gives  us  a  little 
later  on,  to  help  us  over  some  of  the  hard 
places. 

"  Nobody  wants  me  !  Nobody  wants  me  !  " 
he  sighed,  as  he  lay  clown  under  the  trees. 
"  Nobody  ever  did  want  me,  — ■  I  wonder 
why  !  And  everybody  loves  my  darling  Gay 
and  wants  to  keep  her,  and  I  don't  wonder 
about  that.  But  oh,  if  I  only  belonged  to 
somebody  !  (Cuddle  up  close,  little  Ragsy  ; 
we've  got  nobody  but  just  each  other,  and 
you  can  put  your  head  into  the  other  pocket 
that  has  n't  got  the  gingerbread  in  it,  if  you 
please  !)  If  I  only  was  like  that  little 
butcher's  boy  that  he  lets  ride  on  the  seat 
with  him,  and  hold  the  reins  when  he  takes 
meat  into  the  houses,  —  or  if  I  only  was 
that  freckle-face  boy  with  the  straw  hat  that 


222  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

lives  on  the  way  to  the  store!  His  mother 
keeps  coming  out  to  the  gate  on  purpose  to 
kiss  him.  Or  if  I  was  even  Billy  Pennell ! 
He's  had  three  mothers  and  two  fathers 
in  three  years,  Jabe  says.  Jabe  likes  me,  I 
think,  but  he  can't  have  me  live  at  his  house, 
because  his  mother  is  the  kind  that  needs 
plenty  of  room,  he  says,  —  and  Samanthy 
has  no  house.  But  I  did  what  I  tried  to  do. 
I  got  away  from  Minerva  Court  and  found  a 
lovely  place  for  Gay  to  live,  with  two  mothers 
instead  of  one  ;  and  maybe  they  '11  tell  her 
about  me  when  she  grows  bigger,  and  then 
she'll  know  I  didn't  want  to  run  away  from 
her,  but  whether  they  tell  her  or  not,  she  's 
only  a  baby,  and  boys  must  always  take  care 
of  girls  ;  that 's  what  my  dream-mother  whis- 
pers to  me  in  the  night — -and  that's  .  .  . 
what  ...   I  'm  always  ..." 

Come  !  gentle  sleep,  and  take  this  friend- 
less little  knight-errant  in  thy  kind  arms ! 
Bear  him  across  the  rainbow  bridge,  and  lull 
him  to  rest  with  the  soft  plash  of  waves  and 
sighing  of  branches  !  Cover  him  with  thy 
mantle  of  dreams,  sweet  goddess,  and  give 
him  in  sleep  what  he  hath  never  had  in 
waking ! 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  223 

Meanwhile,  a  more  dramatic  scene  was 
being  enacted  at  the  White  Farm.  It  was 
nine  o'clock,  and  Samantha  had  gone  from 
pond  to  garden,  shed  to  barn,  and  gate  to 
dairy,  a  dozen  times  ;  but  there  was  no  sign 
of  Timothy.  Gay  had  refused  to  be  un- 
dressed till  "Timfy"  appeared  on  the  prem- 
ises, but  had  fallen  asleep  in  spite  of  the 
most  valiant  resolution,  and  was  borne  up- 
stairs by  Samantha,  who  made  her  ready  for 
bed  without  waking  her. 

As  she  picked  up  the  heap  of  clothes  to 
lay  them  neatly  on  a  chair,  a  bit  of  folded 
paper  fell  from  the  bosom  of  the  little  dress. 
She  glanced  at  it,  turned  it  over  and  over, 
read  it  quite  through.  Then,  after  retiring 
behind  her  apron  a  moment,  she  went  swiftly 
downstairs  to  the  dining-room  where  Miss 
Avilda  and  Jabe  were  sitting. 

"There!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  trium- 
phant sob,  as  she  laid  the  paper  down  in 
front  of  the  astonished  couple.  "  That 's  a 
letter  from  Timothy.  He  's  run  away,  'n'  I 
don't  blame  him  a  mite,  'n'  I  hope  folks  '11 
be  satisfied  now  they  've  got  red  of  the 
blessed  angel,  'n'  turned  him  ou'doors  with- 


224  TIMOTHY'S  QUEST 

out  a  roof  to  his  head  !  Read  it  out,  'n'  see 
what  kind  of  a  boy  we  've  showed  the  door 
to!" 


Dere  Miss  vilder  and  sermanthy.  i  herd 
you  say  i  cood   not    stay  here    enny  longer 

and  other  people  sed 
nobuddy  wood  have 
me  and  what  you  sed 
about  the  home  but 
as  i  do  not  like  homes 
i  am  going  to  run 
away  if  its  all  the 
same  to  you.  Please 
give  Jabe   back   his 

The  Letter 

birds  egs  with  my 
love  and  i  am  sorry  i  broak  the  humming- 
bird's one  but  it  was  a  naxident.  Pleas  take 
good  care  of  gay  and  i  will  come  back  and 
get  her  when  I  am  ritch.  I  thank  you  very 
mutch  for  such  a  happy  time  and  the  white 
farm  is  the  most  butifull  plase  in  the  whole 
whirld.  Tim. 

p.  s.  i  wood  not  tell  you  if  i  was  going  to 
stay  but  billy  penel  thros  stones  at  the  white 
cow  witch  i  fere  will  get  into  her  milk  so  no 
more  from  Tim. 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  225 

p.  s.  i  am  sorry  not  to  say  good  by  but  i 
am  afrade  on  acount  of  the  home  so  i  put 
them  here. 


The  paper  fell  from  Miss  Vilda's  trem- 
bling fingers,  and  two  salt  tears  dropped 
into  the  kissing  places. 

"  The  Lord  forgive  me  ! "  she  said  at 
length,  —  it  was  many  a  year  since  any  one 
had  seen  her  so  moved.  "The  Lord  for- 
give me  for  a  hard-hearted  old  woman,  and 
give  me  a  chance  to  make  it  right.  Not  one 
reproachful  word  does  he  say  to  us  about 
showin'  partiality,  —  not  one  !  And  my 
heart  has  kind  of  yearned  over  that  boy 
from  the  first,  but  just  because  he  had  Mar- 
thy's  eyes  he  kept  bringin'  up  the  past  to 
me,  and  I  never  looked  at  him  without  re- 


226  TIMOTHY'S  QUEST 

memberin'  how  hard  and  unforgivin'  I'd 
be'n  to  her,  and  thinkin'  if  I  'd  petted  and 
humored  her  a  little  and  made  life  pleasanter, 
perhaps  she  'd  never  have  gone  away.  And 
I  've  scrimped  and  saved  and  laid  up  money 
till  it  comes  hard  to  pay  it  out,  and  when 
I  thought  of  bringin'  up  and  schoolin'  two 
children  I  cal'lated  I  could  n't  afford  it ;  and 
yet  I  've  got  ten  thousand  dollars  in  the 
bank  and  the  best  farm  for  miles  around. 
Samanthy,  you  go  fetch  my  bonnet  and 
shawl,  — Jabe,  you  go 
and  hitch  up  Maria, 
and  we  '11  go  after 
that  boy  and  fetch 
him  back  if  he 's  to 
be  found  anywheres 
above  ground  !  And 
if  we  come  across 
any  more  o'  the 
same  family  trampin' 
around  the  country, 
we'll  bring  them  along  home  while  we're 
about  it,  and  see  if  we  can't  get  some  sleep 
and  some  comfort  out  o'  life.  The  Mis- 
sionary   Society    will    have    to    look    sorae- 


Melted 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  227 

wberes  else  for  money,  I  guess.  There 's 
plenty  o'  folks  that  don't  get  good  works  set 
right  down  in  their  front  yards  for  'em  to 
do.  I  '11  look  out  for  the  individyals  for  a 
spell,  and  let  the  other  folks  support  the 
societies  !  " 


SCENE    XV 

WILKINS'     WOODS 

Like  all  Dogs  in  Fiction,  the  Faithful  Rags  guides 
Miss  Vilda  to  his  Little  Master 


]AMANTHA  ran  out  to 
the  barn  to  hold  the  lan- 
tern and  see  that  Jabe 
did  not  go  to  sleep  while 
he  was  harnessing  Maria. 
But  he  seemed  unusually 
"spry"  for  him,  although  he  was  conduct- 
ing himself  in  a  somewhat  strange  and  un- 
usual manner.  His  loose  figure  shook  from 
time  to  time,  as  with  severe  chills  ;  he  ap- 
peared too  weak  to  hold  up  the  shafts,  so  he 
finally  dropped  them  and  hung  round  Maria's 
neck  in  a  sort  of  mild  speechless  convulsion. 
"  What  under  the  canopy  ails  you,  Jabe 
Slocum  ?  "  asked  Samantha.  "  I  s'pose  it  's 
one  o'  them  everlastin'  old  addled  jokes  o' 
yourn  you  're  tryin'  to  hatch  out,  but  it 's  a 
poor  time  to  be  jokin'  now.  What 's  the 
matter  with  you  ?  " 

" '  Ask  me  no  questions  'n'  I  '11  you  no 
lies  '  is  an  awful  good  motto,"  chuckled  Jabe, 
with  a  new  explosion  of  mirth  that  stretched 


232  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

his  mouth  to  an  alarming  extent.  "  Oh, 
there,  I  can't  hold  in  'nother  minute.  I  shall 
bust  if  I  don'  tell  somebody  !  Set  down  on 
that  nail  kag,  Samanthy,  'n'  I  '11  let  you  hev 
a  leetle  slice  o'  this  joke  —  if  you  '11  keep  it 
to  yourself.  You  see  I  know — 'bout  — 
whar  —  to  look  —  for  this  here  — runaway  !  " 

"You  hev  n't  got  him  stowed  away  any- 
wheres, hev  you  ?  If  you  hev,  it  '11  be  the 
last  joke  you  '11  play  on  Vildy  Cummins,  I 
can  tell  you  that  much,  Jabe  Slocum." 

"  No,  I  hain't  stowed  him  away,  but  I  can 
tell  putty  nigh  whar  he 's  stowed  hisself 
away,  and  I  'm  ready  to  die  a-laffin'  to  see 
how  it  's  all  turned  out  jest  as  I  suspicioned 
't  would.  You  see,  Samanthy  Ann,  I  thought 
'bout  a  week  ago  't  would  be  well  enough  to 
kind  o'  create  a  demand  for  the  young  ones 
so  't  they  'd  hev  some  kind  of  a  market  value, 
and  so  I  got  Elder  Southwick  'n'  Aunt  Hitty 
kind  o'  started  on  that  tack.  It  worked  out 
slick  as  a  whistle,  for  they  did  n't  know  I  was 
usin'  of  'em  as  innercent  instruments,  and 
Aunt  Hitty  don't  need  much  encouragement 
to  talk  ;  it 's  a  heap  easier  for  her  to  drizzle 
'n  it  is  to  hold  up  !     Well,  I  've  be'n  surmis- 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  233 

in'  for  a  week  that  the  boy  meant  to  run 
away,  and  to-day  I  was  dead  sure  of  it ;  for 
he  come  to  me  this  afternoon,  when  I  was 
restin'  a  spell  on  account  o'  the  hot  sun,  and 
he  was  awful  low-sperrited,  'n'  he  asked  me 
every  namable  kind  of  a  question  you  ever 
hearn  tell  of,  and  all  so  simple-minded  that  I 
jest  turned  him  inside  out  'thout  his  knowin' 
what  I  was  doin'.  Well,  when  I  found  out 
what  he  was  up  to  I  could  'a'  stopped  him 
then  'n'  there,  tho'  I  don'  know  's  I  would 
anyhow,  for  I  should  n't  like  livin'  in  a  'sylum 
any  better 'n  he  doos  ;  but  thinks  I  to  my- 
self, thinks  I,  I  'd  better  let  him  run  away, 
jest  as  he 's  a-plannin',  —  and  why?  Cause 
it  '11  show  what  kind  o'  stuff  he  's  made  of, 
and  that  he  ain't  no  beggar  layin'  roun'  whar 
he  ain't  wanted,  but  a  self-respectin'  boy 
that  's  wuth  lookin'  after.  And  thinks  I, 
Samanthy  'n'  I  know  the  wuth  of  him 
a'ready,  but  there  's  them  that  hain't  waked 
up  to  it  yit,  namely,  Miss  Vildy  Trypheny 
Cummins ;  and  as  Miss  Vildy  Trypheny 
Cummins  is  that  kind  o'  cattle  that  can't  be 
drove,  but  hez  to  be  kind  0'  coaxed  along, 
mebbe   this   runnin'-away  bizness  '11  be  the 


234  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

thing  that  '11  fetch  her  roun'  to  our  way  o' 
thinkin'.  Now  I  would  n't  deceive  nobody 
for  a  farm  down  East  with  a  pig  on  it,  but 
thinks  I,  there  ain't  no  deceivin'  'bout  this. 
He  don'  know  I  know  he  's  goin'  to  run  away, 
so  he  's  all  square ;  and  he  never  told  me 
nothin'  'bout  his  plans,  so  I  'm  all  square ; 
and  Miss  Vildy  's  good  as  eighteen-karat  gold 
when  she  gets  roun'  to  it,  so  she  '11  be  all 
square  ;  and  Samanthy  's  got  her  blinders  on 
'n'  don't  see  nothin'  to  the  right  nor  to  the 
left,  so  she  's  all  square.  And  I  ain't  inter- 
ferin'  with  nobody.  I  'm  jest  lettin'  things 
go  the  way  they  've  started,  'n'  stan'in'  to  one 
side  to  see  whar  they  '11  fetch  up,  kind  o'  like 
Providence.  I  'm  leavin'  Miss  Vildy  a  free 
agent,  but  I  'm  shapin'  circumstances  so  's  to 
give  her  a  chance.  But  land  !  if  I  'd  fixed 
up  the  thing  to  suit  myself  I  could  n't  'a' 
managed  it  as  Timothy  hez,  'thout  knowin' 
that  he  was  man  agin'  anything.  Look  at 
that  letter  bizness  now!  I  could  n't  'a'  writ 
that  letter  better  myself!  And  the  sperrit 
o'  the  little  feller,  jest  takin'  his  dorg  'n' 
lightin'  out  with  nothin'  but  a  perlite  good- 
by  !     Well  I  can't  stop  to  talk  no  more  'bout 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  235 

it  now,  or  we  won't  ketch  him,  but  we  '11  jest 
try  Wilkins'  Woods,  Maria,  'n'  see  how  that 
goes.  The  river  road  leads  to  Edgewood 
'n'  Hillside,  whar  there  's  consid'able  hayin' 
bein'  done,  as  I  happened  to  mention  to 
Timothy  this  afternoon  ;  and  plenty  o'  black- 
berries 'side  the  road,  'specially  after  you 
pass  the  wood-pile  on  the  left-hand  side,  whar 
there's  a  reg'lar  garding  of  'em  right  'side  of 
an  old  hoss-blanket  that 's  layin'  there ;  one 
that  I  happened  to  leave  there  one  time  when 
I  was  sleepin'  ou'doors  for  my  health,  and 
that  was  this  afternoon  'bout  five  o'clock,  so 
I  guess  it  hain't  changed  its  location  sence." 

Jabe  and  Miss  Vilda  drove  in  silence 
along  the  river  road  that  skirted  Wilkins' 
Woods,  a  place  where  Jabe  had  taken  Tim- 
othy more  than  once,  so  he  informed  Miss 
Vilda,  and  a  likely  road  for  him  to  travel  if 
he  were  on  his  way  to  some  of  the  near  vil- 
lages. 

Poor  Miss  Vilda  !  Fifty  years  old,  and  in 
twenty  summers  and  winters  scarcely  one 
lovely  thought  had  blossomed  into  lovelier 
deed  and  shed  its  sweetness  over   her   arid 


~%^<r^ 


Transformed 


236  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

and    colorless     life.      Now, 
under    the    magic    spell    of 
tender  little  hands  and  in- 
nocent   lips,    of     luminous 
eyes    that    looked    wistfully 
into  hers  for  a  welcome  and 
the  touch  of  a  groping  help- 
lessness that  fastened  upon 
her  strength,  the  woman  in 
her  woke  into  life,  and  the 
beauty  and  fragrance  of  long- 
ago  summers  came  back  again  as  in  a  dream. 
After  having  driven  three  or   four  miles, 
they  heard  a  melancholy  sound 
in    the    distance ;  and  as  they 
approached  a  huge  woodpile  on 
the  left  side  of  the  road,  they 
saw  a  small  woolly  form  perched 
on  a  little  rise  of  ground,  howl- 
ing   most    melodiously  at    the 
August  moon,   that  hung  like 
a  ball  of  red  fire  in  the  cloud- 
less sky. 

"  That 's  a  sign  of  death  in 
the  family,  ain't  it,  Jabe  ? " 
whispered  Miss  Vilda  faintly.  Howling  at  the  Moon 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  237 

"  So  they  say,"  he  answered  cheerfully; 
"  but  if  't  is,  I  can  'count  for  it,  bein'  as  how  I 
fertilized  the  pond  lilies  with  a  mess  o'  four 
white  kittens  this  afternoon ;  and  as  Rags 
was  with  me  when  I  done  it,  he  may  know 
what  he  's  bayin'  'bout,  —  if  't  is  Rags,  'n'  it 
looks  enough  like  him  to  be  him, —  'n'  it  is 
him,  by  Jiminy,  'n'  Timothy  's  sure  to  be 
somewheres  near.  I  '11  get 
out  'n'  look  roun'  a  little." 

"  You  set  right  still,  Jabe  ; 
I  '11  get  out  myself,  for  if  I 
find  that  boy  I've  got  some- 
thing to  say  to  him  that  no- 
body can  say  for  me." 

As  Jabe  drew  the  wagon  up  beside  the 
fence,  Rags  bounded  out  to  meet  them.  He 
knew  Maria,  bless  your  soul,  the  minute  he 
clapped  his  eyes  on  her,  and  as  he  ap- 
proached Miss  Vilda's  congress  boot  his 
quivering  whiskers  seemed  to  say,  "  Now, 
where  have  I  smelled  that  boot  before  ?  If 
I  mistake  not,  it  has  been  applied  to  me 
more  than  once.  Ha!  I  have  it!  Miss 
Vilda  Cummins  of  the  White  Farm,  owner 
of  the  white  cat  and  hash-pan,  and  compan- 


He  kiiew  Maria 


238  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

ion  of  the  lady  with  the  firm  hand,  who 
wields  the  broom  !  "  whereupon  he  leaped 
up  on  Miss  Cummins'  black  alpaca  skirts, 
and  made  for  her  flannel  garters  in  a  way 
that  she  particularly  disliked. 

"Now,"  said  she,  "if  he's  anything  like 
the  dogs  you  hear  tell  of,  he  '11  take  us  right 
to  Timothy." 

"Wall,  I  don'  know,"  said  Jabe  cautiously  ; 
"  there  's  so  many  kinds  o'  dorg  in  him  you 
can't  hardly  tell  what  he  will  do.  When 
dorgs  is  mixed  beyond  a  certain  p'int  it  kind 
o'  muddles  up  their  instincks,  'n'  you  can't 
rely  on  'em.  Still,  you  might  try  him. 
Hold  still,  'n'  see  what  he  '11  do." 

Miss  Vilda  "held  still,"  and  Rags  jumped 
on  her  skirts. 

"  Now,  set  down,  'n'  see  whar  he  '11  go." 

Miss  Vilda  sat  down,  and  Rags  went  into 
her  lap. 

"  Now,  make  believe  start  somewheres,  'n' 
mebbe  he'll  get  ahead  'n'  put  you  on  the 
right  track." 

Miss  Vilda  did  as  she  was  told,  and  Rags 
followed  close  at  her  heels. 

"  Gorry  !     I  never  see  sech  a   fool !  —  or 


TIMOTHY'S    QUEST  239 

wait,  ■ —  I  '11  tell  you  what 's  the  matter  with 
him.  Mebbe  he  ain't  sech  a  fool  as  he  looks. 
You  see,  he  knows  Timothy  wants  to  run 
away  and  don't  want  to  be  found  'n'  clapped 
into  a  'sylum,  'n'  nuther  does  he.  And  not 
bein'  sure  o'  your  intentions,  he  ain't  a-goin' 
to  give  hisself  away  ;  that 's  the  way  I  size 
Mr.  Rags  up  !  " 

"  Nice  doggy,  nice  doggy  !  "  shuddered 
Miss  Vilda,  as  Rags  precipitated  himself 
upon  her  again.  "  Show  me  where  Timothy 
is,  and  then  we  '11  go  back  home  and  have 
some  nice  bones.  Run  and  find  your  little 
master,  that 's  a  good  doggy  !  " 

It  would  be  a  clever  philosopher  who 
could  divine  Rags'  special  method  of  logic,  or 
who  could  write  him  down  either  as  fool  or 
sage.  Suffice  it  to  say  that,  at  this  moment, 
having  run  in  all  other  possible  directions, 
and  wishing,  doubtless,  to  keep  on  moving, 
he  ran  round  the  wood-pile ;  and  Miss  Vilda, 
following  close  behind,  came  upon  a  little 
figure  stretched  on  a  bit  of  gray  blanket. 
The  pale  face  shone  paler  in  the  moonlight  ; 
there  were  traces  of  tears  on  the  cheeks  ; 
but  there  was  a  heavenly  smile  on  his  parted 


A  Dog's  Delicacy 


240  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

lips,  as  if  his  dream-mother  had  rocked  him  to 
sleep  in  her  arms.  Rags  stole  away  to  Jabe 
(for  even  mixed  dogs  have  some  delicacy), 
and  Miss  Vilda  went  down  on  her 
knees  beside  the  sleeping  boy. 
"  Timothy,  Timothy,  wake  up  !  " 
No  answer. 

"  Timothy,  wake  up  !    I  've  come 
to  take  you  home  !  " 

Timothy  woke  with    a  sob  and 
a   start    at    that    hated  word,  and 
seeing  Miss  Vilda  at  once  jumped 
to  conclusions. 

"Please,  please,  dear  Miss  Vildy,  don't 
take  me  to  the  Home,  but  find  me  some 
other  place,  and  I  '11  never,  never  run  away 
from  it  !  " 

"  You  blessed  child,  I  've  come  to  take 
you  back  to  your  own  home  at  the  White 
Farm." 

It  was  too  good  to  believe  all  at  once. 
"  Nobody  wants  me  there,"  he  said  hesi- 
tatingly. 

"  Everybody  wants  you  there,"  replied 
Miss  Vilda,  with  a  softer  note  in  her  voice 
than  anybody  had  ever  heard  there  before. 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 


241 


"  Samantha  wants  you,  Gay  wants  yon,  and 
Jabe  is  waiting  out  here  with  Maria,  for  he 
wants  you." 

"  But  it 's  your  house  and  you  don't  want 
me  !  "  faltered  the  boy. 

"  I  want  you  more  than  all  of  'em  put  to- 
gether Timothy ;  I  want  you,  and  I  need 
you  most  of  all,"  cried  Miss  Vilda,  with  the 


A  Ueluja 

tears  coursing  down  her  withered  cheeks;  "if 
you  '11  only  forgive  me  for  hurtin'  your  feel- 
in's  and  makin'  you  run  away,  you  shall  come 
to  the  White  Farm  and  be  my  own  boy  as 
long  as  you  live." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Vildy,  darling  Miss  Vildy  ! 
are  we  both  of  us  adopted,  and  are  we  truly 
going  to  live  with  you  all  the  time  and  never 
have    to   go   to  the  Home?"     Whereupon, 


242  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

the  boy  flung  his  loving  arms  round  Miss 
Vilda's  neck  in  an  ecstasy  of  gratitude ; 
and  in  that  sweet  embrace  of  trust  and 
confidence  and  joy,  the  stone  was  rolled 
away,  once  and  forever,  from  the  sepulchre 
of  Miss  Vilda's  heart,  and  Easter  morning 
broke  there. 


SCENE   XVI 

THE    NEW    HOMESTEAD 

Timothy's  Quest  is  ended,  and  Samanthy  says, 
"  Come  along,  Dave  1 " 


]ABE  SLOCUM!     Do 

you  know  it  's  goin' 
on  seven  o'clock  'n' 
not  a  single  chore 
done  ?  " 

Jabe  yawned,  turned 
over,  and  listened  to 
Samantha's  unwel- 
come voice,  which 
(considerably  louder 
than  the  voice  of  conscience)  came  from  the 
outside  world  to  disturb  his  delicious  morn- 
ing slumbers. 

"Jabe  Slocum  I  say  !     Do  you  hear  me  ?  " 
"  Hear    you  ?     Gorry  !    you  'd    wake    the 
seven  sleepers  if  they  was  anywhar  within 
ear-shot !  " 

"  Wal,  will  you  git  up  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  '11  git  up  if  you  're  goin'  to  hev  a 

brash  'bout  it,  but  I  wish  you  hed  n't  waked 

me   so  awful    suddent.     '  Don't  ontwist   the 

mornin'  glory'  's  my  motto.     Wait  a  spell  'n' 


246  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

the  sun  '11  do  it,  'n'  save  a  heap  o'  wear  'n' 
tear  besides.     Go  'long  !     I  '11  git  up." 

"I've  beerd  that  story  afore,  'n'  I  won't 
go  'long  tell  I  hear  you  step  foot  on  the 
floor." 

"  Scoot  !  I  tell  yer  I  '11  be  out  in  a  jiffy." 
.,  "  Yes,  I  think  I  see  yer. 
Your  jiffies  are  consid'able 
like  golden  opportunities,  there 
ain't  time  for  more  'n  one  of 
'em  in  a  lifetime  !  "  and  having 
shot  this  Parthian  arrow,  Sa- 
mantha  departed  as  one  hav- 
ing done  her  duty  in  that 
humble  sphere  of  action  to 
which  it  had  pleased  Provi- 
dence to  call  her. 

These  were  beautiful  au- 
tumn days  at  the  White  Farm. 
The  orchards  were  gleaming, 
the  grapes  hung  purple  on  the 
vines,  and  the  odor  of  ripening 
fruit  was  in  the  hazy  air.  The 
pink  spirea  had  cast  its  feathery  petal  by  the 
gray  stone  walls,  but  the  welcome  goldenrod 
bloomed  in  royal  profusion  along  the  brown 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  247 

waysides,  and  a  crimson  leaf  bung  here  and 
there  in  the  treetops,  just  to  give  a  hint  of 
the  fall  styles  in  color.  Heaps  of  yellow 
pumpkins  and  squashes  lay  in  the  corners  of 
the  fields;  cornstalks  bowed  their  heads  be- 
neath the  weight  of  ripened  ears ;  beans 
threatened  to  burst  through  their  yellow 
pods ;  the  sound  of  the  threshing-machine 
was  heard  in  the  land;  and  the  "hull  uni- 
varse  wanted  to  be  waited  on  to  once,"  ac- 
cording to  Jabe  Slocum  ;  for,  as  he  affirmed, 
"  Yer  could  n't  ketch  up  with  your  work 
nohow,  for  if  yer  set  up  nights  'n'  worked 
Sundays,  the  craps  'd  ripen  'n'  go  to  seed  on 
yer  'fore  yer  could  git  'em  harvested  !  " 

If  there  was  peace  and  plenty  without, 
there  was  quite  as  much  within  doors. 

"  I  can't  hardly  tell  what 's  the  matter  with 
me  these  days,"  said  Samantha  Ann  to  Miss 
Vilda,  as  they  sat  peeling  and  slicing  apples 
for  drying.  "  My  heart  has  felt  like  a  stun 
these  last  years,  and  now  all  to  once  it 's  so 
soft  I  'm  ashamed  of  it.  Seems  to  me  there 
never  was  such  a  summer  !  The  hay  never 
smelt  so  sweet,  the  birds  never  sang  so  well, 
the   currants  never  jelled  so  hard  !     Why  I 


24S  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

can't  kick  the  cat,  though  she  's  more  ever- 
lastin'ly  under  foot  'n  ever,  'n'  pretty  soon  I 
shan't  even  have  sprawl  enough  to  jaw  Jabe 
Slocum.  I  b'lieve  it  's  nothin'  in  the  world 
but  them  children  ! 
They  keep  a-runnin' 
after  me,  'n'  it 's  dear 
Samanthy  here,  'n'  dear 
Samanthy  there,  jest 
as  if  I  warn't  a  hombly 
old  maid  ;  'n'  they  take 
holt  o'  my  hands  on 
both  sides  o'  me,  'n' 
won't  stir  a  step  till  I 
go  to  see  the  chickens 
with  'em,  'n'  the  pig,  'n' 
one  thing  'n'  'nother, 
„  .  ."T  'n'  clappin'  their  hands 

Going  to  see  the  Chickens 

when  I  make  'em  gin- 
ger-bread men,  and  kissin'  of  me  when  I  give 
'em  pond  lilies  to  smell  of.  And  that  reminds 
me,  I  see  the  school-teacher  goin'  clown  along 
this  mornin',  'n'  I  run  out  to  see  how  Timothy 
was  gittin'  along  in  his  studies.  She  says  he 's 
the  most  ex-tra-ordinary  scholar  in  this  dees- 
trick.     She  says  he  takes  holt  of  every  book 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  249 

she  gives  him  jest  as  if  't  was  reviewin'  'stid  o' 
the  first  time  over.  She  says  when  he  speaks 
pieces,  Friday  afternoons,  all  the  rest  o'  the 
young  ones  set  there  with  their  jaws  hangin', 
'n'  some  of 'em  laughin'  n'  cryin'  't  the  same 
time.  She  says  we  'd  oughter  see  some  of 
his  comp'sitions  'n'  she'll  show  us  some  as 
soon  as  she  gits  'em  back  from  her  beau 
that  works  at  the  Waterbury  Watch  Factory, 
and  they  're  goin'  to  be  married  's  quick  as 
she  gits  money  enough  saved  up  to  buy  her 
weddin'  clo'es,  'n'  I  told  her  not  to  put  it  off 
too  long  or  she  'd  hev  her  clo'es  on  her  hands, 
'stid  of  her  back.  She 
says  Timothy 's  at  the 
head  of  the  hull  class, 
but  land  !  there  ain't 
a  boy  in  it  that  knows 
enough  to  git  his 
clo'es  on  right  side 
out.  She  's  a  splen- 
did    teacher,      Miss 

t->        . ,  t  1  ,-, ,  The  Young;  Poet 

Boothby     is !       She 

tells  me  the  seeleck  men  hev  raised  her  pay 
to  four  dollars  a  week  'n'  she  to  board  her- 
self, 'n'  she  's  wuth  every  cent  of  it.      I  like 


250  TIMOTHY'S    QUEST 

to  see  folks  well  paid  that 's  got  the  patience 
to  set  indoors  V  cram  information  inter 
young  ones  that  don't  care  no  more  'bout 
learnin'  'n'  a  skunk-blackbird.  She  give  me 
Timothy's  writin'  book  for  you  to  see  what 
he  writ  in  it  yesterday,  'n'  she  hed  to  keep 
him  in  't  recess  'cause  he  did  n't  copy  '  Go  to 
the  ant,  thou  sluggard,  and  be  wise,'  as  he  'd 
oughter.  Now  let's  see  wh?t  't  is.  My 
grief  !  it 's  poetry  sure  's  you  're  born.  I  can 
tell  it  in  a  minute  'cause  it  don't  come  out  to 
the  aidge  o'  the  book  one  side  or  the  other. 
Read  it  out  loud,  Vildy." 

" '  Oh  !    the  White  Farm  and  the  White  Farm  ! 
I  love  it  with  all  my  heart ; 
And  I  'm  to  live  at  the  White  Farm 
Till  death  it  do  us  part.'  " 

Miss    Vilda    lifted    her    head,   intoxicated 

with  the  melody  she  had  evoked.     "  Did  you 

ever  hear  anything  like  that,"  she  exclaimed 

proudly. 

" '  Oh  !  the  White  Farm  and  the  White  Farm  ! 
I  love  it  with  all  my  heart ; 
And  I  'm  to  live  at  the  White  Farm 
Till  death  it  do  us  part.'  " 

"Just  hear   the  sent'ment  of  it,  and  the 
way  it  sings  along  like  a  tune.     I  'm  goin'  to 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  251 

show  that  to  the  minister  this  very  night, 
and  that  boy  's  got  to  have  the  best  educa- 
tion there  is  to  be  had  if  we  have  to  mort- 
gage the  farm." 

Samantha  Ann  was  right.  The  old  home- 
stead wore  a  new  aspect  these  days,  and  a 
love  of  all  things  seemed  to  have  crept  into 
the  hearts  of  its  inmates,  as  if  some  benef- 
icent fairy  of  a  spicier  were  spinning  a  web 
of  tenderness  all  about  the  house,  or  as  if  a 
soft  light  had  dawned  in  the  midst  of  great 
darkness  and  was  gradually  brightening  into 
the  perfect  day. 

In  the  midst  of  this  new-found  gladness 
and  the  sweet  cares  that  grew  and  multiplied 
as  the  busy  days  went  on,  Samantha' s  appe- 
tite for  happiness  grew  by  what  it  fed  upon, 
so  that  before  long  she  was  a  little  unhappy 
that  other  people,  some  more  than  others, 
were  not  as  happy  as  she;  and  Aunt  Hitty 
was  heard  to  say  at  the  sewing-circle  (which 
had  facilities  for  gathering  and  disseminat- 
ing news  infinitely  superior  to  those  of  the 
Associated  Press),  that  Samantha  Ann  Rip- 
ley looked  so  peart  and  young  this  summer, 
Dave  Milliken  had  better  spunk  up  and  try 
again. 


252  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

But,  alas !  the  younger  and  fresher  and 
happier  Samantha  looked,  the  older  and  sad- 
der and  meeker  David  appeared,  till  all 
hopes  of  his  "  spunking  up  "  died  out  of  the 
village  heart  ;  and,  it  might  as  well  be  stated, 
out  of  Samantha' s  also.  She  always  thought 
about  it  at  sundown,  for  it  was  at  sundown 
that  all  their  quarrels  and  reconciliations 
had  taken  place,  inasmuch  as  it  was  the  only 
leisure  time  for  week-day  courting  at  Pleas- 
ant River. 

It  was  sundown  now ;  Miss  Vilda  and 
Jabez  Slocum  had  gone  to  Wednesday  even- 
ing prayer-meeting,  and  Samantha  was  look- 
ing for  Timothy  to  go  to  the  store  with  her 
on  some  household  errands.  She  had  seen 
the  children  go  into  the  garden  a  half  hour 
before,  Timothy  walking  gravely,  with  his 
book  behind  him,  Gay  blowing  over  the  grass 
like  a  feather. 

She  walked  towards  the  summer-house ; 
Timothy  was  not  there,  but  little  Lady  Gay 
was  having  a  party  all  to  herself,  and  the 
scene  was  such  a  pretty  one  that  Samantha 
stooped  behind  the  lattice  and  listened. 

There  was  a  table  spread  for    four,  with 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  253 

bits  of  broken  china  and  shells  for  dishes, 
and  pieces  of  apple  and  gingerbread  for  the 
feast.  There  were  several  dolls  present, 
notably  one  without  any  head,  who  was  not 
likely  to  shine  at  a  dinner  party  ;  but  Gay's 
first-born  sat  in  her  lap.  Only  a  mother 
could  have  gazed  upon  such  a  battered  thing 


The  Dinner  Party 

and  loved  it.  Gay  took  her  pleasures  madly, 
and  this  faithful  creature  had  shared  them 
all ;  but  not  having  inherited  her  mother's 
somewhat  rare  recuperative  powers,  she  was 
now  fit  only  for  a  free  bed  in  a  hospital,  — 
a  state  of  mind  and  body  which  she  did  not 
in  the  least  endeavor  to  conceal.  One  of 
her    shoe-button    eyes    dangled    by  a    linen 


254  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

thread  in  a  blood-curdling  sort  of  way.  Her 
nose,  which  had  been  a  pink  glass  bead,  was 
now  a  mere  spot,  ambiguously  located.  Her 
red  worsted  lips  were  sadly  raveled,  but  that 
she  did  not  regret,  "for  it  was  kissin'  as 
done  it."  Her  yarn  hair  was  attached  to 
her  head  with  safety-pins,  and  her  internal 
organs  intruded  themselves  on  the  public 
through  a  gaping  wound  in  the  side.  Never 
mind  !  if  you  have  any  curiosity  to  measure 
the  strength  of  the  ideal,  watch  a  child  with 
her  oldest  doll.  Rags  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
dinner-table,  and  had  taken  the  precaution 
to  get  the  headless  doll  on  his  right,  with  a 
view  to  eating  her  gingerbread  as  well  as 
his  own,  —  doing  no  violence  to  the  propri- 
eties in  this  way,  but  rather  concealing  her 
defects  from  a  carping  public. 

"  I  tell  you  sompfin',  ittle  Mit  Vildy  Turn- 
mins,"  Gay  was  saying  to  her  battered  off- 
spring. "You's  doin'  to  have  a  new  ittle 
sit-ter  to-mowowday,  if  you  's  a  dood  ittle 
did  an  does  to  seep  nite  an  kick,  you  ser- 
zvcet  ittle  Vildy  Tummins  i  "  (All  this  punctu- 
ated with  ardent  squeezes  fraught  with  deli- 
cious agony  to  one  who  had  a  wound  in  her 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  255 

side!)  "Vay  fink  you 's  worn  out,  'weety, 
but  we  know  you  is  n't,  don'  we,  'weety  ? 
An'  I  '11  tell  you  nite  ittle  tory  to-night, 
tause  you  isn't  seepy.  Wunt  there  was  a 
ittle  day  hen  'at  tole  a  net  an'  laid  fir-teen 
waw  edds  in  it,  an'  bime  bye  erleven  or  sev- 
enteen ittle  chits  few  out  of  'em,  an'  Mit  Vil- 
dy  'dopted  'em  all !  I'n't  that  a  nite  tory 
you  ser-zveet  ittle  Mit  Vildy  Tummins  ?" 

Samantha  hardly  knew  why  the  tears 
should  spring  to  her  eyes  as  she  watched  the 
dinner  party,  —  unless  it  was  because  we  can 
scarcely  look  at  children  in  their  uncon- 
scious play  without  a  sort  of  sadness,  partly 
of  pity  and  partly  of  envy,  and  of  longing 
too,  as  for  something  lost  and  gone.  And 
Samantha  could  look  back  to  the  time  when 
she  had  sat  at  tables  set  with  bits  of  broken 
china,  yes,  in  this  very  summer-house,  and 
little  Martha  was  always  so  gay,  and  David 
used  to  laugh  so !  "  But  there  was  no  use 
in  tryin'  to  make  folks  any  dif'rent,  'spe- 
cially if  they  was  such  nat'ral  born  fools  they 
could  n't  see  a  hole  in  a  grindstun  'thout 
hevin'  it  hung  on  their  noses  ! "  and  with 
these  large  and  charitable  views  of  human 


256  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

nature,  Samantha  walked  back  to  the  gate, 
and  met  Timothy  as  he  came  out  of  the  or- 
chard. She  knew  then  what  he  had  been 
doing.  The  boy  had  certain  quaint  thoughts 
and  ways  that  were  at  once  a  revelation  and 
an  inspiration  to  these  two  plain  women, 
and  one  of  them  was  to  step  softly  into  the 
side  orchard  on  pleasant  evenings,  and  with- 
out a  word,  to  lay  a  nosegay  on  Martha's 
little  white  doorplate.  If  Miss  Vilda  chanced 
to  be  at  the  window  he 
would  give  her  a  quiet 
smile,  much  as  to  say, 
"  We  have  no  need  of 
words,  we  two  !  "  And 
Vilda,  like  one  of  old,  hid 
all  these  doings  in  her 
heart  of  hearts,  and  loved 
the  boy  with  a  love  pass- 


Timothy'ls  Thouglitjithicss 


ing  knowledge. 


Samantha,  with  Timo- 
thy by  her  side,  walked 
down  the  hill  to  the  store.  Yes,  David 
Milliken  was  sitting  all  alone  on  the  loaf- 
er's bench  at  the  door,  and  why  was  n't  he 
at  prayer-meetin,'  where    he  ought  to   be? 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  257 

She  was  glad  she  chanced  to  have  on  her 
clean  purple  calico,  and  that  Timothy  had 
insisted  on  pinning  a  pink  Ma'thy  Washing- 
ton geranium  in  her  collar,  for  it  was  just 
as  well  to  make  folks'  mouth  water  whether 
they  had  sense  enough  to  eat  or  not. 

"Who  is  that  sorry-looking  man  that  al- 
ways sits  on  the  bench  at  the  store,  Sa- 
in an  thy  ? " 

"  That 's  David  Milliken." 

"Why  does  he  look  so  sorry,  Samanthy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  's  all  right.  He  likes  it  fust- 
rate,  wearin'  out  that  hard  bench  settin'  on 
it  night  in  'n'  night  out,  like  a  bump  on  a 
log !  But,  there,  Timothy,  I  've  gone  'n' 
forgot  the  whole  pepper,  'n'  we  're  goin'  to 
pickle  seed  cowcumbers  to-morrer.  You 
take  the  lard  home  'n'  put  it  in  the  cold 
room,  'n'  ondress  Gay  'n'  git  her  to  bed,  for 
I  've  got  to  call  int'  Mis  Mayhew's  goin' 
along  back." 

It  was  very  vexatious  to  be  obliged  to  pass 
David  Milliken  a  second  time  ;  "  though 
there  warn't  no  sign  that  he  cared  anything 
about  it  one  way  or  'nother,  bein'  blind  as  a 
bat,  'n'  deef  as  an  adder,  'n'  dumb  as  a  fish, 


25S  TIMOTHY'S   QUEST 

'n'  settin  stockstill  there  with  no  coat  on, 
'n'  the  wind  blowin'  up  for  rain,  'n'  four  o' 
the  Millikens  layin'  in  the  churchyard  with 
gallopin'  consumption."  It  was  in  this 
frame  of  mind  that  she  purchased  the  pep- 
per, which  she  could  have  eaten  at  that 
moment  as  calmly  as  if  it  had  been  marrow- 
fat peas  ;  and  in  this  frame  of  mind  she 
might  have  continued  to  the  end  of  time  had 
it  not  been  for  one  of  those  unconsidered 
trifles  that  move  the  world  when  the  great 
forces  have  given  up  trying.  As  she  came 
out  of  the  store  and  passed  David,  her  eye 
fell  on  a  patch  in  the  flannel  shirt  that  cov- 
ered his  bent  shoulders.  The  shirt  was  gray 
and  (oh,  the  pity  of  it  !)  the  patch  was  red  ; 
moreover,  it  was  laid  forlornly  on  outside, 
and  held  by  straggling  stitches  of  carpet 
thread  put  in  by  patient,  clumsy  fingers. 
That  patch  had  an  irresistible  pathos  for  a 
woman  ! 

Samantha  Ann  Ripley  never  exactly  knew 
what  happened.  Even  the  wisest  of  New 
England  virgins  has  emotional  lapses  once 
in  a  while,  and  this  one  confessed  afterwards 
that  her  heart  riz  right  up  inside  of  her  like 


TIMOTHY'S   QUEST  259 

a  yeast  cake.  Mr.  Berry,  the  postmaster, 
was  in  the  back  of  the  store  reading  postal 
cards.  Not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  She  man- 
aged to  get  down  over  the  steps,  though 
something  with  the  strength  of  tarred  ship- 
ropes  was  drawing  her  back  ;  and  then,  look- 
ing over  her  shoulder  with  her  whole  brave, 
womanly  heart  in  her  swimming  eyes,  she 
put  out  her  hand  and  said,  "  Come  along, 
Dave  !  " 

And  David  straightway  gat  him  up  from 
the  loafer's  bench  and  went  unto  Samantha 
gladly. 

And  they  remembered  not  past  unhappi- 
ness  because  of  present  joy  ;  nor  that  the 
chill  of  coming  winter  was  in  the  air,  be- 
cause it  was  summer  in  their  hearts  ;  and 
this  is  the  eternal  magic  of  love. 


